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BUDS OF SPRING. 



"These volumes contain what he has left, immature buds, and blossoms 
shaken from the tree, euid green fniit ; yet will they evince what the 
harvest would have been." 

Southey's Life of H. K. White. 



BUDS OF SPRING. 



POETICAL REMAINS 



OF 



AUGUSTUS FOSTER LYDE 



WITH 



ADDENDA. 



Vos autem hortor, ut ita virtutem locetis, sine qua amicitia esse non potest, 
ut, ea exoepta, nihil amicitia prsestabilius putetis." 

Cicero, De Amicitia. 



V 

BOSTON: 

PERKINS AND MARVIN. 

NEW YORK: WILEY AND PUTNAM. 

PHILADELPHIA : HENRY PERKINS. 

1838. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1838, by 

Thomas H. Vail, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



CAMBRIDGE : 

FOLSOM, WELLS; AN1> THURSTON, 
PBINTEKS TO THE UNIVERSITY. 



PREFACE 



For a succinct notice of the life and character, 
and of the Poetical Remains of Lyde, the reader is 
referred to the Introduction. But it is proper to 
say a few words upon the appearance of this little 
volume of poems. The title seemed proper to it, 
inasmuch as the pieces are the production of a 
mind which had not expanded into its maturity, and 
proper also to the season in which the volume has 
been introduced to the public. Like the buds of 
spring, the thoughts of our departed friend were 
just opening in their fresh and irregular beauty, and 
were beginning to shed around their pure and sweet 
and welcome fragrance. Lyde is known to all the 
members of the Episcopalian community, and to 
many in other denominations, as having been a 
young man of great promise. And it has been 
"thought, that a memorial of him, hke this now pre- 
sented, would be acceptable to a large circle of 



vi PREFACE. 

friends who knew and admired him, and to others 
who would regret that his name should be for- 
gotten. 

If this little volume should be dedicated to those 
who always manifested a most lively interest in the 
welfare of our friend, and exerted themselves most 
liberally to develope his talents and usefulness, the 
names of the Rt. Rev. Thomas C. Brownell, and 
of the Rev. Francis L. Hawks, and of the Rev. 
Horatio N. Potter, and of John Pintard, Esq., 
would be adopted among the first. But the in- 
scription selected appeared the most suitable ; and 
the profits from this edition, if any be realized, will 
be devoted to the support of the Christian Mission 
to China, through the Foreign Committee of the 
Board of Missions of the Protestant Episcopal 
Church in the United States. 

The design of the Addenda is explained in the 
Note preliminary to them. If these Remains shall find 
favor sufficient to make another edition expedient, it 
may be well to substitute, instead of the Addenda, 
(unless a memoir of Lyde shall be prepared in an- 
other quarter, as was at one time contemplated,) 
extracts from his correspondence and prose writ- 



PREFACE. yii 

ings ; so that the book may serve the purpose of a 
memoir of our friend, in an order somewhat similar 
to that in which the Literary Remains of Henry 
Kirke White have been arranged by his biographer. 
The Editor of this volume hopes that the im- 
perfections of his work may be overlooked in the 
satisfaction derived from a perusal of its contents. 
The volume has been prepared without a reference 
to the captious, for it is a sad duty to transcribe 
the Remains of a friend whom one has loved. 
These will, we believe, be read, as they have been 
prepared for the press, with a softened heart. 

"Mollissima corda 
Humano generi dare se natura fateturj 
Quae lachrymas dedit." 

Juv. Sat. XV. 131 - 133. 

Cambridge, Massachusetts, 
April, 1838. 



" We bless thy holy name, Oh Lord, for all thy servants departed 
this life in thy faith and fear 5 beseeching Thee to give us grace so to fol- 
low their good examples, that with them we may be partakers of thy heav- 
enly kingdom: grant this, Oh Father, for Jesus Christ's sake, our 
only Mediator and Advocate." 



CONTENTS. 



Introduction xi 

POETICAL REMAINS. 

Stanza 5 

Home of My Childhood 6 

Youthful Attachments 8 

A Paraphrase 13 

Man was not Made to Mourn . . . .14 

Thoughts by the Hudson 16 

Prayers of the Good 19 

The Orphan 20 

A Fragment 23 

The Highland Fight 25 

A Mother's Love 28 

Origin of the Night-Blooming Cereus . . 29 

A Fragment 30 

Switzerland 31 

To J. G 37 

Belshazzar's Feast 38 

Sketches of Music 47 

To A Friend 53 

To THE Same 54 

Humility 55 

A Vision 66 

Lines written on the Housatonic ... 68 

The Death of Moses 69 



10 



CONTENTS. 



"Remember Me" "^4 

Remember Thee "^^ 

Epitaph on Lyde 



76 



ADDENDA. 

Preliminary Note "^^ 

Our Life 83 

The Farewell of Repentance .... 84 

The Widow ^0 

Sonnet. " Night's stillness hangs around " . . 91 

The Universal Sympathy 92 

Apostrophe to Music 102 

Music 1^3 

A Sentimental Sonnet 1^4 

The Christian Pilgrim's Pass-Word . . 105 
Sonnet. "My weary spirit," . . * . .114 

The Widow's Son 115 

The Maniac Maid 117 

Dies Ir^e 118 

The Day of Wrath 119 

The Departed 126 

The Lamb and the Cross 128 

Sonnet. " There is a mourner," .... 135 

Christian Resignation 136 

The Unknown Sufferings of Christ . . 138 

A Prayer to Christ 142 

Sonnet. "Lord! Thou art God," ... 143 

The Worship of Heaven 144 

Sonnet. " Welcome, Buds of Spring " . • 150 



INTRODUCTION. 



There is, to the mind of the Editor, a striking 
analogy between the lamented Author of these Re- 
mains, and the interesting subject of Mr. Southey's 
care, referred to in the Preface. Lyde, as respects 
the promise of his brief but bright career, and the 
hopes of his future usefulness and eminence so san- 
guinely entertained by those who knew him, as re- 
spects, too, the incidents of his personal history, 
and the peculiar traits of his intellect, and many 
points in his moral character, is before the mind of 
the Editor, as, in a remarkable analogy, the Henry 
Kirke White of America, and the contemplation of 
him is a sad pleasure. So gifted with intellectual 
capacity, so refined in taste, so delicate in moral 
apprehensions, that few were able to understand his 
excellence, and withal so reserved in confidential 
intercourse, that few might really know him, he has 
glided silently away from us. And we feel as one 
who has tost listlessly into the sea some fair pebble 
picked up on the beach, and perceives too late, as 
it passes from his hand, the clear and white rays 



xu INTRODUCTION. 

of the diamond : or we feel as one who has been 
roused from a long trance, just when the glowing 
sun of a cloudless summer day has settled under the 
verge of the horizon, and fancies, in his first sur- 
prise, that he sees the herald light of the morning ; 
but the glorious hues fade sorrowfully, and the gold- 
en light becomes pale, and presently the soft stars 
tell him he has lost the day. Thus we feel deso- 
late. But our brother is in heaven, and his light 
is on another sphere, and we may not mourn for 
him. 

This Introduction will be devoted to a brief sketch 
of the life and character of Lyde, and a brief no- 
tice of his literary remains. We remember, that it 
was proposed some three or four years since by a 
gentleman well qualified for the duty, then a student 
in the General Protestant Episcopal Theological Sem- 
inary in New York, to prepare a volume, which 
should include memoirs of three, who had deceased 
from the class which graduated in 1834 from that 
institution, — Lloyd Saxbury Waddell,* George F. 
Cook,t and the Author of these Remains. Such a 
volume would be acceptable to their friends, and 
would, without doubt, be highly useful in our Church. 
The piety and Christian character of many, who, 
like the three above mentioned, have died in their 

* A native of the city of New York, who died in the same city, 
November 17th, 1832, aged twenty-one years. 

t A native of Cornish, N. H., born September 18th, 1808, who died 
in the city of New York, March 29th, 1834, and was buried on the 
Easter Sunday following. 



INTRODUCTION. xiii 

morning service at the altar of Christ in our Church/ 
have been suffered to pass away from the public 
remembrance, when they should have been recorded, 
for an example to their successors. Whether the 
design referred to has been prosecuted, or aban- 
doned on account of the claims of other duties, the 
Editor has not been informed. It is hoped the de- 
sign is prosecuted. The present volume will be no 
interference with the plan ; and the materials for 
this Introduction are purposely selected from pieces 
already in print. By such an arrangement, besides, 
near friends will have, what is always especially 
desired by them in such cases, the several pieces 
which appeared at the time of our brother's de- 
mise, and which convey most concisely and exactly 
the impression produced by that event. 

We transcribe now an obituary notice of the 
deceased, which appeared in " The Churchman " 
(published in the city of New York) of December 
6th, 1834, and simultaneously in "The Episcopal 
Recorder " (published at Philadelphia), and which 
was prepared by a friend, who had long known him 
intimately, and was best fitted to draw up such a 
memorial, the Rev. Samuel Starr (as it is understood), 
then Rector of the Church at Camden, New Jersey. 

" The Rev. Augustus Foster Lyde was born in Wilming- 
ton, North Carolina, February 4th, 1813, where in early life he 

* To the list we add the name of Henry H. Cook, a native of Clare- 
mont, N. H., and a member jjf the Middle Class in the General Semi- 
nary, who died, in the city of New York, on the 28th of January in the 
current year. 

b 



XIV INTRODUCTION. 

was piously educated, under the pastoral and academical 
charge of the Rev. Dr. Empie. 

" From very infancy he manifested a strong and abiding 
sense of religious obligation, and was peculiarly fond of his 
Bible. As illustrative of this, when at the age of six yeai:s he 
was learning the beginning of the fifth chapter of St. Mat- 
thew's Gospel, which had been assigned him as a Sunday 
School lesson, he declared that the chapter was too good 
to be broken, and would not leave it till the whole was com- 
mitted to memory. 

" At the early age of fourteen he was admitted a mem- 
ber of the Sophomore class in Washington College, Con- 
necticut, where he was remarked alike by officers and 
students to be an uncommonly interesting and promising 
hoy. He applied himself devotedly to every collegiate duty, 
and that, as was apparent to all, from principle, from love 
of study, and from a desire of improvement, rather than from 
any gratification of a selfish ambition. He graduated in 
1830, when but seventeen years of age, at the head of his 
class, and without any competitor for its highest honors. 

"Though his mind was at this period firmly bent upon 
the Gospel ministry, he was advised, on account of his youth, 
and for the purpose of studying Hebrew, and disciplining 
his mind by an extended acquaintance with the sciences, to 
delay for a year the commencement of his theological course. 
He accordingly entered the General Seminary in 1831, and 
his instructors and fellow-students will all bear testimony to 
his proficiency, and to what may have been a too close 
devotion to his studies. 

"But, though assiduously laboring to cultivate his mind, and 
to store it with sound learning, he was most devotedly bent 
upon the more important discipline of his heart. He was 
conscientiously jealous of whatever might tend to bind it to 
earth. He felt that there was no middle ground for a disci- 



INTRODUCTION. XV 

pie of the Lord Jesus to stand on ; and especially did he 
feel, that a Christian minister's life and his whole strength 
should be unreservedly sacrificed on the altar of his God. 
With such views and feelings, he was naturally led to in- 
quire, and that with deep reflection and fervent prayer, how 
the cause of Christ and his Church could be most effect- 
ually promoted. The inquiry exercised his mind most deeply 
the last year of his theological course.* ' The field,' he 



* As it may be interesting to know the agency, which, under God, 
was most efficient in leading our brother's mind to this inquiry, we 
insert the following article, which appeared in " The Churchman " of 
the last of May, 1835. 

'^ ORIGIN OF THE CHINA MISSION. 

" A little less than four years ago, there connected himself with 
our General Theological Seminary, one who was then as much dis- 
tinguished by peculiar traits of character, as he afterwards was by the 
manner in which those traits were hallowed by the influence of divine 
grace. Not that he was at that period devoid of those views of him- 
self, sin, and God, which are essential to a Christian : no ! far different 
was the fact. He knew full well that he was a sinner, that he could 
do nothing good of himself, that the wrath of God hangs over the 
children of disobedience, and that for him, as for all others, there 
was but one name through which he might be saved, the name of 
Christ. But the providence of God rendered these views clearer 
shortly after he joined the band of aspirants to the sacred office. One 
of the most powerful instruments in effecting this end was the Mis- 
sionary Association of the Institution, to which it was his privilege to 
belong. Did time permit, it would be a pleasing duty to stop here and 
show how the cause of missions and personal piety necessarily aid 
each other 5 but such an argument would carry us too far from our 
present object, and is, besides, in a great measure unnecessary, since 
those who peruse this brief sketch will very generally admit the truth 
of the position. 

" The young man, whose story we are relating, was not long in per- 
ceiving how much he was indebted to the humble yet effective Mis- 
sionary Association of the Seminary, and therefore spared no exertions 
in promoting the great objects which it has in view. While thus 



XVI INTRODUCTION. 

argued, 'is the world.' This whole field, through human 
instrumentality, is to be cultivated for the final harvest of 
the Lord. The blessed time of the glorious in-gathering 

engaged, he became deeply impressed with the wants of the heathen 
in foreign lands. Many and earnest were the contests in his bosom 
between inclination and a somewhat obscure sense of duty. Each 
day brought to him new struggles and increased dependence on God j 
for he knew that he was agitating a question to which God alone 
could furnish him a sufficient answer. He prayed. Yes, even when 
his watchful brethren around him had closed their eyes in sleep, he 
sent his glowing prayers to heaven for light. Were those prayers 
answered ? Who could doubt, that supplications, whose every word 
was winged with earnestness, and whose every petition was interwoven 
with faith, were heard ? Yes, they were heard. All doubts were re- 
moved. Where but lately he saw only dark clouds, by the clear lights 
of reason and conscience he now descried the index of duty : it 
pointed but one way 5 into that way he prepared to enter. He pledged 
himself to convey those glad tidings to China, which his Saviour brought 
to earth, and thus, without intending it, connected his own history 
with that of the noblest undertaking of our Church. 

" His example had its appropriate effect 5 for when was there such 
an example without its influence 1 A class-mate stepped forward to 
aid him in his noble work 5 and with him received holy orders, only 
to plant the standard of the Cross within the walls of civilized yet 
heathen China. Would that it were consistent with our purpose to 
turn aside, and describe minutely the meeting, at which these brethren 
parted with the Missionary Association from which they received their 
first missionary breath. Then might we tell of the mixed feelings 
with which the future ministers of our Church looked and listened to 
the two, (Messrs. Lyde and Lockwood), who were soon probably to 
give themselves to a foreign land. Exultation was the first emotion 
experienced, because there rose full in view the good which was to 
be done, by their zeal and devotion, to the Seminary in which they 
were educated, to the Church of Christ, and, though last not least, 
to the perishing souls of men. But how changed were the feelings 
when he, who had been the instrument of Providence in beginning the 
enterprise, rose to bid his brethren adieu ! To some, even then, the 
hand of death seemed laid upon his pallid cheek, and all could not 



INTRODUCTION. XVII 

will be advanced by the zeal, or retarded by the sluggish 
inaction, of the Church. He believed, that there exist in 
her bosom energies that have never yet been called into 

but feel that such might be the case, who saw him choking with emotion, 
and, amid a flood of tears, scarce articulating, ' Pray for me, brethren 3 
pray that my health may be restored 3 God is my witness, I ask it not for 
myself, — I ask it for China.' We will not stop to describe the gush of 
feeling which ensued. Suffice it to say, that many a manly countenance 
was turned away to hide the glistening signs of sympathy and affection. 

" A few short months ensued, and Augustus Foster Lyde was 
numbered among the dead. Sorrow for our loss was our primary 
emotion 3 apprehension for our missionary cause, the result of our 
first reflection. Soon, however, we recollected, that God is often most 
kind when he seems most to frown. We therefore took fresh courage 
and patiently awaited the day when the affliction, which the Church 
had experienced in the removal of our brother, would bring out 
others to imitate his example, and devote their lives to extend the 
Gospel to 360,000,000 of immortal souls. The time has come. 

'' Where was the commencement of this magnificent and now 
promising undertaking ? The previous detail answers the question, 
— in the Missionary Association of the General Seminary of our 
Church 3 for that communicated its spirit to Ltjde ; he solicited the 
adoption of the station by our Domestic and Foreign Missionary 
Society, and that step, with his own example, called forth all who 
are now going to the field. C. R." 

Let a word of admonition be received by those who are now students 
in the General Seminary, from one who is thankful he was once a 
member of their Missionary Society, — that this Association be sus- 
tained vigorously, as among their most effective means of grace, and 
a powerful promoter of their Missionary spirit. 

For the information of persons unacquainted with the present state 
of the American Protestant Episcopal Mission to China, it is proper 
to state, that in June, 1835, the Rev. Henry Lockwood, a graduate from 
the General Seminary in the city of New York, and the Rev. F. R. 
Hanson, a graduate from the Episcopal Seminary in Alexandria, District 
of Columbia, sailed from the port of New York, for China 3 and in July, 
1837, the Rev. W. J. Boone, M. D., and his lady, sailed from Boston, for 
the same station. At present they all reside in Batavia. — Editor. 
b* 



XViii INTRODUCTION. 

vigorous action, and that the most effectual mode of arousing 
them is, to send from her own fold the heralds of salvation, 
not only for the purpose of immediately illuminating the dark 
places of the earth, but also for learning, and for sending 
back from its different parts, such stories of the spiritual 
darkness and death in which it is shrouded, as, under God, 
should be the means of enlisting Christian sympathy, and 
eliciting Christian effort for the great work of evangelizing 
the world. Such, in a word, was his decided view of the 
value of foreign missions to the Church. He desired their 
establishment and prosperity, for he considered them as im- 
portant to the perfection of the grand system of bringing all 
people and nations of the earth into one fold under the one 
Great Shepherd. Yet he never set up his own opinion as 
the infallible guide of others. His views were too elevated, 
and his knowledge of human character too true, to suppose, 
that even with equally intelligent and honest minds the 
same premises necessarily result in the same conclusions ; 
much less did he ever claim, that the possession of different 
sentiments on the subject of missions should be taken on 
either side of the question as a test of zeal or indifference 
for the cause of Christ. 

"Such being Mr. Lyde's settled conviction in reference 
to the missionary enterprise, he was led to ask, hoio the work 
should be advanced. The result was, that, when the Church 
from the authorized source should send forth the inquiry, 
'Whom shall we send ?' his voice should be heard in the re- 
sponse, ' Here am /; send me.' He accordingly wrote, last 
winter, to the lamented Dr. Montgomery, asking whether 
there was any probability that the Executive Committee of 
the Domestic and Foreign Missionary Society would recom- 
mend the establishment of a mission in Asia. In reference 
to the foreign mission previously established in Africa, he 
expressed a belief, that there were those in the Church who 
would hazard their lives in the burning heat of the African soil. 



INTRODUCTION. XiX 

if it were demanded by the cause of the Redeemer; but that 
he thought the objects of foreign missions could be better 
effected at present upon other heathen ground. With his 
characteristic modesty he requested that his own name should 
in no way be connected with the inquiry. It is believed that 
the letter was shown but once, and then upon a known inti- 
macy with its author. Dr. Montgomery, as may be supposed 
by all who knew him, was enthusiastic in his encomiums upon 
the character and spirit of the letter ; but was too soon after 
prostrated upon his dying bed, ever to give it a reply. 

" In the spring, Mr. Lyde was afflicted with a cold and a 
slight bilious attack, which to an extent reduced his strength, 
and seemed to render it necessary for him to suspend his 
studies for a while, and absent himself from the Seminary. 
On his way to Philadelphia he joined the company of a cler- 
gyman and a layman, with whose persons, and with whose 
active interest and efficiency in all important matters of the 
Church, he was well acquainted. As the special object of 
their visit to Philadelphia was to attend the meeting of the 
Board of Directors of the Domestic and Foreign Missionary 
Society, his favorite theme was presented to their attention, 
and his own views and feelings most fully expressed. 
Through their instrumentality in bringing forward and ad- 
vocating the question, the Board established the China mis- 
sion, with instructions to the Executive Committee to carry 
the object into effect so soon as the men and means could 
be provided. Mr. Lyde afterward remarked, in conversation 
on the subject, that it had required a great sacrifice of nat- 
ural feeling for him to decide upon leaving the society of 
friends and the attractions of country for a home in a strange 
and distant land, but that his mind was decided upon the 
course, and that it would require another great sacrifice of 
feeling, should he be disappointed in his hopes. 

" But his hopes have been disappointed, though in a man- 
ner which he then but little anticipated. Notwittistanding 



XX INTRODUCTION. 

he carefully pursued the course advised by his physician for 
the restoration of his health, it remained to all appearance 
stationary till the time of his graduation, the last week in 
June. He graduated with his class, and the following Sun- 
day was ordained by Bishop Brownell, in St. Thomas's 
Church, New York, in company with several of his class- 
mates. The remainder of the summer was spent in New 
England, where he was advised to make a voyage to the 
West Indies, encouraged that he might return with reno- 
vated strength in the spring. On reaching New York, the 
last of September, his case was more closely examined: and, 
at his request to be honestly dealt with, his physician gave 
his opinion that his lungs were diseased beyond hope of re- 
covery ; and that, for the sake of a more congenial climate, 
he had better leave for Philadelphia, than put himself en- 
tirely beyond the reach of his friends. He sustained the 
stroke like a Christian philosopher,* repeated the opinion 
that had been given of his condition, on arriving at Phila- 
delphia, without the least apparent emotion, and expressed 



* Lest this expression should be misunderstood by any, it is proper 
to state, that, at the time when a consultation of physicians was held 
upon his case, Lyde was expecting their decision in another room. 
The physician, who regularly attended him, and to whom he was 
much, attached, was appointed to communicate with him. As he en- 
tered the room, and for a moment was silent, Lyde said to him, with 
great decision, " Doctor, tell me plainly the exact truth ; I am pre- 
pared for any result." So soon as his physician had informed him of 
the result of the consultation, Lyde burst into tears, and for a few 
minutes paced the room in strong emotion, and then exclaimed, 
" Can it be so ? Shall I never be allowed to preach the Gospel in 
China? Yet I am not worthy of such a service! But I will labor 
for her sake while I live." The scene was most affecting and sol- 
emnizing. And he did labor for China after this 5 and his influence 
upon his brethren in the Seminary was not without effect, as one of 
the Missionaries now in China will testify. — Editor. 



INTRODUCTION. Xxi 

his happiness that he had been apprized of the prospect 
before him, that he might be led the more earnestly to seek 
the grace necessary for his departure. He however asked 
further medical advice ; and, as, at his request, the worst was 
told him, he remained unmoved as before. Leaving his 
physician, he began to devise such arrangements as were 
necessary to enable him to spend as comfortably as possible 
the remnant of his days, and to die. His disease remained 
nearly stationary for four or five weeks, which induced the 
belief of his friends, that he might survive the winter. But 
nine days before his death he attended church, and was on 
horseback the following Tuesday. He began to fail more 
rapidly after this, and left his room for the last time on Sun- 
day. He was confined to his bed but one day, and expired 
at nine o'clock on Wednesday morning, the ]9th instant. 

" Owing to a natural reservedness in the expression of 
his feelings, and to a settled aversion to every thing like 
noisy cant in matters of religion, Mr. Lyde said little, quite 
too little, to his visiting friends, about dying, and about his 
prospects for eternity. Occasionally, however, he spoke of 
both, to the near friends that were with him, with calmness, 
and indeed with delight. He said, that it seemed for him 
far better to die this winter than to live longer ; that, if he 
entered upon his professional duties, an awful responsibility 
would attend him through life ; that souls might be lost 
through his lack of faithfulness; that, if his Heavenly Father 
willed, he should be resigned to stay on earth, but that he 
preferred going to do his Master's work in another and a 
better world. The day before his death he said, that, in the 
early part of his sickness, his views had not been so clear, 
nor his peace so perfect, as he desired ; ' but,' he proceeded, 
his eye enlivened with an unearthly brightness, ' my pros- 
pect has become perfectly glorious : the great secret of happy 
dying is a simple reliance on the strength of Christ ; it is 



XXii INTRODUCTION. 

sweet to die in full assurance of reposing in the bosom of 
my Saviour.' He became so elated with his theme as to 
forget his weakness, till checked and requested to be silent. 
At evening he asked Dr. Delancey to administer the com- 
munion to him the following day. But it proved too late. 
The Doctor reached his dwelling just after he expired. His 
last hours were peaceful and happy, and attended with but 
little bodily suffering.* When past speaking, he would 
rivet his piercing eye upon those weeping by his bedside, 
and with smiles of heavenly joy seemed to rebuke their 
%veakness for lamenting his departure. He sunk down with- 
out a struggle or a gasp, and found an apparently easy pas- 
sage through ' the valley of the shadow of death.' His 
body is laid in St. Peter's Churchyard, f there to repose till 
aroused from its long slumber by the archangel's trump on 
the morning of the resurrection. His spirit, though never 
privileged to exercise its powers in the ministrations of God's 
sanctuary on earth, has been called away — (may we not 
add ?) for the express purpose of an employment in the ser- 

* I am allowed to transcribe from a letter written at the time of 
Lyde's decease, the following passage : " Before he retired for the 
night (Tuesday night), his aunt said to him, that, as he was unable to 
read his Bible (which was his constant study), she would read to him 5 
and she inquired, if there were any particular chapters which he 
wished to hear. He named the fortieth of Isaiah. When she had 
concluded it, he remarked, that he wished to meditate a little upon it j 
and after a time he requested her to read the forty-third chapter of 
the same book." — Editor. 

t From the letter quoted in a former note, we subjoin another brief 
extract. " On Friday afternoon his funeral took place. He was car- 
ried into St. Peter's Church. Bishop White, Dr. Abercrombie, and 
thirteen other clergymen attended. Bishop Onderdonk read the fu- 
neral service. The Church was crowded, — the hymn commencing 
' Vital spark of heavenly flame ' was sung, — the music was very 
solemn." — Editor. 



INTRODUCTION. XXiii 

vices of that better temple, not made with liands, eternal in 
the heavens. 

" An event, however, like this, is a mystery too deep to be 
fathomed by the plummet of human reason. It is an event 
which the friends of our departed brother and the friends of 
the Church must of necessity mourn, though one which 
cannot fail to bend a submissive heart most humbly to the 
will of God. The sun of his earthly existence rose with 
amazing rapidity and brightness, but it has suddenly sunk 
into the midnight of the grave. No unsanctified reasoning 
can solve the question, why a young man, with faculties so 
naturally powerful and so matured, should be taken from the 
world when just prepared to enter it with honor and pre- 
eminent usefulness. But there is to be found in faith a 
philosophy, which, if truly possessed, will hush at once 
every secret murmuring, and will readily reconcile the event 
to our minds, by a living dependence upon the wisdom and 
the goodness of the providence of God." 

In "The Missionary" (published at Burlington) 
of November 29th, a week before the article just 
quoted appeared, there was a short but very interest- 
ing notice of the author of these Remains, which it 
will be well to preserve. It is here quoted entire. 

"The Rev. Augustus Foster Lyde, deacon, who de- 
parted this life on the 19th instant in the city of Philadelphia, , 
was a young man of no ordinary promise ; and his decease, 
at the moment when he seemed just fitted for usefulness 
in the cause of Christ and of souls, to which he had given 
himself up, enforces fearfully the sentence of Holy Scripture, 
' Be still, and know that I am God ! ' Mr. Lyde was a gradu- 
ate of Washington College, where it was the privilege of the 
present writer to watch the first opening of his clear, vigorous, 
and manly intellect. He had not quite completed the three 



XXIV INTRODUCTION. 

years' term of study at the General Theological Seminary, 
where the expectations formed of him at Washington College 
were more than realized, when the seeds of the insidious 
disease which caused his death were first detected. He was 
able to be present with the members of his class, who were 
admitted by the Bishop of New York to the holy order of 
deacons, and to take upon himself the responsibilities of that 
sacred office, but not to discharge any of its functions. The 
progress of his disease was singularly rapid, and in less than 
five months after his ordination he was taken to his rest. 
There is little reason to doubt, that intense devotion to study 
was the proximate cause of Mr. Lyde's disease. But there 
remains to those who knew and loved him the precious con- 
solation, that the zeal to which he fell a martyr was not the 
unhallowed thirst for secular knowledge merely, or for tem- 
poral distinction, but the zeal of God's house. During his 
connexion with the General Theological Seminary, after 
much searching of heart, many prayers, and careful consulta- 
tion of those who were over him in the Lord, Mr. Lyde deter- 
mined to devote himself, if God would accept the offering, to 
a mission in China. And it is an interesting evidence of that 
generous self-dedication which had become, through grace, 
his characteristic trait, that his determination was made, not 
in expectation of valuable services to be rendered by him, in 
the prosecution of so great a work, but of calling to it the 
attention of others better able to grapple with its tremendous 
difficulties. It did not please God to grant him the desire of 
his heart. Yet it is just to say, and will be an interesting 
reminiscence of his brief career, that, by his resolution to 
undertake the Chinese Mission, the attention of the Protes- 
tant Episcopal Church was first strongly turned to that sub- 
ject, and the impulse, under God, derived from him, which has 
led to the establishment, by the Domestic and Foreign Mis- 
sionary Society, of a Mission to China. From an early period 



INTRODUCTION. XXV 

of his malady, contrary to the customary habit of consumptive 
patients, he anticipated an early and a fatal issue ; but, strong 
in the grace which is in Christ Jesus, he looked upon 
death with calmness, confidence, and cheerfulness. When 
the present writer, a fortnight before his death, reminded him, 
at parting, that, whatever the result might be, it would be 
ordered, if his faith was firm, in infinite mercy, — ' and by 
Him,' he added, with a smile, ' who doeth all things well.'' " 

The last exertion to write, which was made by the 
subject of these notices, was in behalf of China, and 
for the good of the brethren he had left behind him in 
the Seminary. The letter, addressed by him to the 
members of the Missionary Society with which he had 
been connected, is filled with feeling, and breathes a 
spirit of the most complete self-dedication to his God 
and Saviour, and most earnest love for his fellow- 
men. It shall be recorded presently. We now ask 
attention to the following communication, published in 
the same number of '^ The Churchman " which con- 
tained the former of the foregoing obituary notices, 

"On the receipt of the intelligence of the death of the Rev. 
Augustus F. Lyde at the Seminary, a meeting of the stu- 
dents was called in the Chapel, November 21st, at which the 
letter announcing his death was read. The following resolu- 
tions, expressive of the sense of the students on the event, were 
adopted ; and a committee was appointed to prepare a brief 
biography of our late brother for publication in the periodicals 
of the Church, together with the adopted resolutions, and a let- 
ter received a few weeks since from Mr. Lyde, addressed to 
the Missionary Society of the Seminary, his last effort in 
behalf of the cause to which he was pledged, — the cause of 
Missions. 

c 



XXVI INTRODUCTION. 

" From the first part of their duty the committee thus ap- 
pointed are relieved by the full and satisfactory biography 
which appears in 'The Churchman' of this week, furnished by 
an intimate and confidential friend of Mr. Lyde, and who was 
therefore better qualified than any other for the office of his 
biographer. The missionary letter alluded to will appear in 
' The Churchman ' of next week. The following are the reso- 
lutions, which were unanimously adopted. 

" Resolved, That the decease of our late brother, the Rev. 
Augustus F. Lyde, is received by us Avith emotions of unaf- 
fected sorrow ; and of thankfulness to the God of all grace, 
that we can sorrow as those who have hope, 

" Resolved, That we regard this dispensation of the Divine 
Providence as solemnly admonishing us to be watchful and 
diligent; that, whenever our Master may summon us hence, 
we may be ready and waiting. 

" Resolved, That, while we bow with humility to the will of 
God in this event, we cannot but entertain a deep sense of 
the loss sustained by the friends of our deceased brother ; by 
the ministry of the Protestant Episcopal Church ; and pecu- 
liarly by the Missionary cause, to which he was pledged. 

^^ Resolved, That a committee be appointed to present to the 
family of our deceased brother a copy of the above resolu- 
tions, with the assurance of our heartfelt condolence. 

"W. F. Walker, Chairman:' 

The letter, to which allusion has been made, is a 
precious document to the friends of our departed 
brother ; but it is valuable to all, and is especially- 
worthy of consideration by those who have entered, 
or are purposing to enter, upon the duties and respon- 
sibilities of the Christian ministry ; for every minister 
is a missionary, and should seek to be certain that he 



INTRODUCTION. XXVU 

occupies his proper place in the labor of his master's 
harvest. It follows, as printed in " The Churchman " 
of December 13th, 1834. 

'' Philadelphia, October, 1834. 
"Brethren of the Missionary Society, 

"It matters little to me that my personal connexion with the 
Association has been dissolved ; that I no longer appear in 
your midst when you meet in pursuance of your glorious ob- 
jects. I am, and ever will be to the end of life, a member of 
the Missionary Association in heart. 

" It is well known to all or most of you, that I had deter- 
mined, by the help of God, to preach the Gospel to the hea- 
then in China; but God in his infinite wisdom has seen fit to 
dispose it otherwise, and has removed the probability of my 
preaching the Gospel to Christian or heathen. I do not ad- 
dress you then in levity or inconsiderateness, but in the calm 
expectation of death. The point on which I stand is a deeply 
solemn one ; may we mutually realize it. Standing on this 
elevated point, and making a retrospect of my short life, I 
bend my eye along the causes which have contributed to 
create and modify my moral and religious character. Leav- 
ing the first operations of God's Spirit, I wander along a 
dark and weary way, cheered by but few Christian hopes and 
attainments, until my eye rests upon an elevation imposing 
and bright. It is beautiful with ' the feet of them that bring 
good tidings, that bring good tidings of good;' it is radiant 
with the same glorious light, that first broke in upon my mind 
and scattered away its accumulated ignorance and sorrow. 

" ' Mighty through God ! ' I involuntarily exclaim, and, in 
view of eternity, hail the Missionary Association, as under 
God, and his appointed means of grace, the mightiest cause 
that he has brought to bear upon the salvation of my soul. 



XXVlil INTRODUCTION. 

" You will immediately infer from what I have said, that I 
consider it your duty and privilege, and I hope you will con- 
sider it in the same light precisely, to perform most punctually 
all the duties required. It is only by such a uniform course 
of conduct, that the prosperity of a society is preserved, and 
its advantages fully secured. 

" But it is not at the general meetings of the Society, nor 
yet the meetings of your committees (which should be made 
as conversational as possible), tliat the Missionary spirit is to 
be acquired. Alas ! alas ! how many there are, who mistake 
the interest felt in the pursuit of what is novel and strange, 
or the sympathy excited by human suffering, or the glow 
occasioned by the view of a great moral enterprise, for a 
deep and fervent love for the souls of perishing men ! Often, 
too, the ardor, excited by some powerful and moving appeal in 
behalf of this great cause, is nothing more than a natural 
sympathetic emotion, instead of the powerful movings of God's 
Holt Spirit. 

" O no, my dear Christian brethren ; it is only in the holy, 
quiet retirement of your closet, that this pure spirit is to be 
sought and found. Prayer, — earnest, constant prayer, (in the 
deeply expressive language of Paul) the * groanings which 
cannot be uttered,' will bring down the blessing we seek like 
the morning dew and the early rain. The other means are 
powerful in their place ; but here we win the blessing of God, 
as it were, immediately. 

" But, my Christian brethren, these are but the preparatory 
steps to a higher and nobler course of duty. An ardent love 
for the souls of men is holy and acceptable in itself: but 
Christian virtue, most unlike the cold theories of man, has 
within itself the elements of vigorous resolve and action; they 
are component parts of its existence. Has not then each one 
of you present a personal duty beyond all this, in reference to 



INTRODUCTION. XXIX 

the great Missionary cause ? Is there not treasured up, in the 
futurity of appointed duty, some further resolve and action of 
yet unconceived moment? Let us assume the remotest possi- 
bility that can be taken into the estimate, that it is the duty 
of but one out of your whole number to preach the gospel to the 
heathen. Suppose, that it were communicated to you while to- 
gether, that there was an unfailing certainty that one among 
you should leave home and country for Christ's sake and the 
Gospel's. How would the message be received ? Every Chris- 
tian heart, (and such are all, I trust,) would at once respond to 
the possibility, and ask, ' Lord, is it I ? ' nor would he cease 
to pray, and read, and meditate, until he could speak out 
from the darkness of uncertainty, 'Lord, I will follow thee 
whithersoever thou goest.' But in the name and presence 
of Almighty God, in view of our destiny for eternity, as we 
expect to stand before the judgment-seat of Christ, does any 
one believe, that the Saviour, the Lord of missions and salva- 
tion, requires but one missionary from your whole number ? 
Does any one believe, that the whole heathen world, with its 
hundreds of millions, claims but one Missionary from the Prot- 
estant Episcopal Church ? Do not disguise the fact. You 
know, that, if they go not from our seminaries, they will never 
go ; these are the only probable sources of supply. 

"In reply to the above questions, in the confidence of 
truth, I answer. No, To every one, then, I would say, ' It may, 
or it may not, be your duty to go abroad. If it is not, you 
should be prepared to go wherever your Divine Master may 
be pleased to send you. If it should be your duty, (I tremble 
at the possibilities of the case,) under what awful responsi- 
bilities do you lie ! You stand in the relation of one, who 
turns away from the path that God points out to him, and 
chooses one for himself.' There is no one present but would 
revolt at such a thought. 

"Let me in conclusion add a few more particular remarks. 



XXX INTRODUCTION. 

There is very great danger of erring in the decision, by draw- 
in o- up a long list of qualifications on the authority perhaps 
of some writer, and excusing ourselves thus on several grounds 
entirely insufficient. There are necessary qualifications ; but 
we should pray much before we excuse ourselves for any sin- 
gle reason. 

" Again. It is clear that no man can say, previous to an 
investigation, that it is out of the question that he should go. 
Of course I here except domestic necessities. But there are 
many to whom the thought is so entirely new and almost 
chimerical, that they dismiss it without a thought. Refined 
education, or talent, or expectations, stand for ever between 
them and faithfulness to their souls. 

" Farewell, my dear Christian brethren ! I feel like one 
who sees his brothers on the brink of a precipice, where he 
himself found out dangers at which the heart may tremble. 
But ' let not your heart be troubled.' I have all along presup- 
posed that the Holy Spirit would be afforded abundantly, 
and in the use of God's appointed means, in his appointed 
way. You cannot, as surely as God is true, you cannot fail 
of his approbation. 

" Once more, farewell ! and that the God of all mercy may 
guide you all in your investigations, is the earnest prayer of 
" Your fellow-member and brother in Christ, 

"A. F. Ltde." 
It is unnecessary to add any words in approba- 
tion of this epistle. It speaks for itself most eloquent- 
ly. Nor is it necessary to enlarge upon the personal 
character of its writer. And we would not trespass 
upon the oflSce of a biographer. It seems, however, 
while we are collecting here the chief documents 
which relate to our brother, to be right, as well as 
agreeable to his friends, to annex in this place a few 
poetical pieces produced soon after his decease. 



INTRODUCTION. xxxi 

<' LINES* 

"occasioned by the death of the rev. AUGUSTUS F. LYDE. 

" Why now so sad the halls, where late were heard 
His admonitions to proclaim the word 
To heathen nations, to a drowsy world ? 
Why now are pitying eyes with tears impearled ? 
And why does each, with anxious, heaving breast, 
Emotions tell, by language unexpressed ? 
Lyde is no more ! — The star, which was to beam 
Through China's mists, and break the sluggish dream 
Of Pagan hopes, no longer yields its light; — 
Lyde is no more ! — o'er China still is night. 
Weep ye, who late were by his counsels led ; 
Ye, who the cause for Avhich your Saviour bled 
Loved more because he loved it, o'er the bier 
Of holy friendship drop the hallowed tear. 
Weep, heaven-devoted, dedicated band, 
Who know no other charm nor potent wand, 
Than Christian fellowship in hopes and fears ; 
Your loved companion now no longer rears 
The sacred standard high for distant climes ; — 
Lyde is no more ! — so speak his muffled chimes. 

" Weep thou, for whom the richest robe of white, 
The shining mantle of pure Gospel light, 
The Son of God provided, honored bride, 
The Saviour's glory and the Saviour's pride. 
Yes, Church of God, thy tears should freely flow, 
Another soldier of the Cross lies low ; 
Another min'ster from thy altar riven, 
Has quit thy service to be heir in heaven ; — 

* From " The Churchman " of December 6th. 1834.. 



XXXll INTRODUCTION. 

Mourn for thyself, and for thy children mourn ! 
The graces for thee gathered, upward borne, 
No more are used for thee, but for thy son 
Secure an access to Messiah's throne ; — 
Mourn for thyself, — thy champion is no more ! 
He, who thy glory in his wishes bore. 
Has left the world's cold scorn and chilling frown. 
To wear in heaven a celestial crown. 

" But more, much more shouldst thou, O China, sun 
Of heathen systems, mourn ! else had he won 
For thee of Christian life and Christian hope the prize. 
The blessed Gospel, passport to the skies ; 
His manly voice no more for thee employs 
Its deepest strains to gain eternal joys : 
For thy fond children, sharers of the soil 
Which cost the Saviour's trouble and his toil, 
The Saviour's passion and the Saviour's breath, 
He pleaded while in life, he pleads in death ! 

C. R. A.' 

« LINES * 

" UPON THE DEATH OF THE REV. A. F. LYDE. 

" 'T IS done ; — the weary struggle 's past, — 

The trembling and the dread; — 
The darksome vale is left at last. 

And thou art with the dead ! 
' Beauty for ashes,' and the light 
Of heavenly day for sorrow's night ; 
For sunken eye and trembling limb, 
The spirit-shape of Cherubim ; 
And, for earth's tainted joys, divine 
And ceaseless ecstasies are thine ! 

* From " The Churchman '' of December 13th, 1834. 



INTRODUCTION. XXXlll 

"We would not mourn thy parting hence, 
But hail thy happy flight 
From the low trammellings of sense, 

And sin's debasing might: 
We would not, but that o'er the world 
The clouds of death brood all unfurled, 
And souls are hurrying wave on wave, 
And breaking on life's shore, the grave ; 
And when to this sad scene we turn, 
'T is not for thee, but them, we mourn! 

" For thy touched spirit Avas on fire 

With an heroic zeal ; 
God's glory was thy soul's desire. 

And man's immortal weal ; 
Thy loins were girt, thy staff in hand, 
And in thy heart thy Lord's command, 
And thou wert burning to depart, 
And light and life and joy impart ; 
To open in the waste a spring. 
And make dark China's deserts sing ! 

" Yes, — now I see thee in our midst. 

As om- grieved bosoms swell, 
Shivering Avith feeling as thou bidd'st 

Thy brethren all farewell ! 
Again I hear that solemn tone, 
Which told the struggles thou hadst known ; — 
'Quench not the Spirit I' was the word. 
Which, 'mid thy gushing tears, we heard. 
Marking, in thy then fervent breath, 
The hollowness of coming death! * 



* An allusion to the incidents of the last meeting of the Missionary 
Society of the General Theological Seminary, of which he was the Presi- 



XXXlV INTRODUCTION. 

" Mysterious God ! whose anger hath 

Issues ofjoy and good ; 
Who scatterest blessings in thy wrath, 

And frown'st beatitude ; 
Whose whirlwinds and whose lightnings bring 
A blessing on their fearful wing ; 
Make us to feel, in this the hour 
Of sorrow's wild and tempting power, 
How poor the thoughts of erring dust. 
And that thy judgments all are just ! 

" Now joy to thee, thou ransomed one ! 

For thou hast gone on high ; 
The crown of glory thou hast won. 

And wed felicity ! 
The Saviour, who hath led thee here. 
Through earth's dark wilderness and drear. 
Shall guide thee, with a friendly hand. 
Through all that green and better land, 
Th' unvisioned Paradise above. 
Where thought is bliss, and life is love ! 

'^Geiurcd Theological Sevdnanj, N. Y., 
November 22, 1834," 



dent. At that time he told us of his hopes and fears; of his hopes, that he 
might yet be enabled to proceed to China as a missionary, and thus fulfil 
the warmest wishes of his heart ; — of his fears, that the hand of death was 
already upon him. After a striking description of the struggle through 
which he had passed in coming to the determination to go abroad, and ex- 
pressing the conviction that he had resisted the strivings of the Spirit of 
God urging him to the work, he concluded with the impressive admoni- 
tion, not soon to be forgotten by those who heard him, " Quench not the 
Spirit ! " 



INTRODUCTION. XXXV 

« SONNET 

" SUGGESTED BY THE EPITAPH OF THE LAMENTED LYDE.* 

"Here sleeps a herald of the Cross, whose voice 

In hallowed fanes was never lifted up, 

Whose hands ne'er blessed the sacramental cup, 
Nor brake the bread, the faithful to rejoice ; 
And yet he panted with a holy zeal 

To cross the storm- white wave, and fearless show, 

To countless worshippers of fabled Fo, 
That fount, whose waters all pollutions heal. 
With living faith, and apostolic love. 

The youthful warrior had prepared to roam, 
When the sad mandate issued from above. 

To stay his steps, and call him to his home ; 
Mourner, weep not ! ' our Father's will be done ! ' 
He hath some other work to give his son. 

B. D. W." 

Upon a plain marble slab, enclosed in the church- 
yard of St. Peter's church, Philadelphia, may be read 
this faithful and touching inscription^ prepared by 
Bishop Doane ofNevv^ Jersey : 

" Sacred to the Memory 

of 

The Reverend Augustus Foster Lyde, 

A Deacon 

Of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the United States ; 

Who was born in Wilmington, North Carolina, 

February 4th, 1813; 

And died in the City of Philadelphia, 

November 19th, 1834. 

* It was presented by the writer to a friend of the deceased. Whether 
it has been ever published, the Editor is not informed. 



XXX VI INTRODUCTION. 

It was in his Heart 

To preach the Gospel to the Chinese ; 

And for this Service 

He had offered himself to God, and the Church. 

But it pleased his Heavenly Father 

To call him early home, 

And he died. 

At 21, 

Patient, cheerful, victorious, 

Through the faith 

Of the Lord Jesus Christ." 

We will extend this introduction by a few observa- 
tions upon the literary R^emains of Lyde. As the 
plan of the Editor of these Remains has nothing to do 
with the preparation of a memoir of our brother, no 
effort has been made to collect his correspondence. 
We may suppose, from his general character, that 
such a collection, exhibiting the more secret oper- 
ations of his mind and heart, in familiar' epistolary 
communications, must be peculiarly interesting. In 
selecting the materials for the present volume, the 
Editor has had occasion to revise a number of more 
formal compositions, such as themes written in Col- 
lege, and disquisitions upon various subjects, besides 
essays written during the course of his theological 
studies, and addresses upon different occasions, also 
fragments of compositions, and single thoughts pre- 
served on loose papers. All these pieces exhibit a 
sound judgment, a habit of patient reflection, a luxu- 
riant and almost uncontrollable imagination. Some 
of his later pieces are very elaborate. And the com- 
parison of them, as written at different periods, while 



INTRODUCTION. XXXVll 

all have the same characteristics, evinces the result 
of constant study and habitual discipline, — a rapid im- 
provement, enlargement of comprehensiveness, culti- 
vation of taste. The various prose productions, which 
have been furnished to the notice of the Editor, show 
that the elements of his mind were well distributed, 
and were of a superior class. 

But the literary Remains, which it becomes the Ed- 
itor to speak of with more particularity, are Poeti- 
cal, — what are submitted in the present little volume. 
The most remarkable characteristic in our brother's 
mind was depth of sentiment. This principle of senti- 
ment impressed its influence upon all his mental acts, 
and gave a peculiarity to even his manners in social 
life. Gifted with quick perceptions, a discriminating 
judge of the character of actions and persons, he was 
moved by the tenderest pity, or the most yearning 
love, or the most generous enthusiasm, and he was 
capable of the keenest satire. Owing to this, he was 
uncommunicative with strangers, but free to converse 
where he felt sympathy ; he disliked and shunned dis- 
putation, and gave his opinions sententiously. His 
poems are full of pure and captivating sentiment, 
while they are devoid of its opposite, — sentimental- 
ism. The piece entitled "Home of my Childhood," 
and the poem entitled "Humility," and that entitled 
"The Death of Moses," are affecting and beautiful 
illustrations of this remark. 

We must observe, that this collection of pieces is 
not brought forward to compete with the matured 
and linished productions of professional and educated 
d 



XXXVili INTRODUCTION. 

poets. And yet these pieces have high intrinsic 
merit. They are irregular many times in their meas- 
ure. They need the 'Mimae labor et mora," which 
their Author was never suffered to bestow. They are 
published as he left them, with all their imperfections. 
Yet they are filled with "the soul of poetry," and, in 
many places, their construction is very perfect. We 
cannot but think, (although it is possible our personal 
partialities for the Author may blind our judgment,) 
that these pieces of Lyde will occupy no mean posi- 
tion on the scale of American poetry. ' They are as 
yet, in some respects, unique in the history of Ameri- 
can poetry, — the Remains of a very youthful, and 
talented, and pious student. 

Let it be borne in mind, that these pieces were 
nearly all written before their Author had arrived at 
eighteen years of age ; and that, when he departed 
this life, his mind was not fully matured. Habit- 
uated to but few intimacies, and a student, his fac- 
ulties could not ripen so rapidly, as in the case of 
those, who have many companions, and are thrown 
early into active society. Three or four years more 
would have developed capacities, of which he was 
just becoming conscious, when he deceased. And for 
the last three years of his life he paid but little atten- 
tion to poetry, from conscientious motives. If he had 
reviewed these pieces at a short period before his 
death, they would undoubtedly have been much im- 
proved. The last piece composed by him was that 
entitled "Humility," written a year or two previous 
to his decease ; and he at that time expressed a de- 



INTRODUCTION. xxxix 

termination to deny himself thenceforth the enjoy- 
ment of poetical composition, that he might devote 
himself more unreservedly to the serious and labori- 
ous duties which he had chosen. . 

These Buds, whose stalk was cut down, before they 
were allowed to expand fully into the shining flower, 
yet are beautiful, and show how lovely would have 
been their maturity. We have thought they ought 
not to wither in darkness and perish, and have at- 
tempted thus to preserve them for a time. The name 
of Lyde is already familiar to Episcopalians in this 
country, and is cherished by them. Removed from 
the circle of his friends and the prospects of much 
usefulness in the militant Church, at a very early age, 
yet, even in this beginning of his days, the origi- 
nator of the Protestant Episcopal Mission to China ; 
having a mind richly stored with human learning, 
and a heart thoroughly imbued with divine grace ; 
enthusiastic, energetic, refined, he has been fondly 
remembered, and his loss will be long deplored. To 
many personal friends, and to many who have heard 
of him, these simple poems will commend themselves. 

We cannot better conclude this preface, than by 
applying to the subject of it, the words, slightly al- 
tered, of Southey, at the close of his very interest- 
ing '' Account of the Life of Henry Kirke White," 
the minute and expressive appropriateness of which 
has been observed since the title of our little vol- 
ume was selected. " The reader, who feels any 
admiration for Lyde, will take some interest in these 
Remains, because they are his ; he, who shall feel 



xl INTRODUCTION. 

none, must have a blind heart, and therefore a blind 

understanding The very circumstance of 

his early death gives a new interest to his memory, 
and thereby new force to his example. Just at that 
age when the painter would have wished to fix his 
likeness, and the lover of poetry would delight to 
contemplate him, in the fair morning of his virtues, 
the full spring blossom of his hopes, — just at that 
age hath death set the seal of eternity upon him, 

and the beautiful hath been made permanent 

His temper had been irritable in his younger days, but 
this he had long since effectually overcome. His con- 
versation was always sober, and to the purpose. That 
which was most remarkable in him, was his uniform 
good sense, a faculty perhaps less common than genius. 
There never existed a more dutiful son, a more affec- 
tionate brother, a warmer friend, nor a devouter 
Christian. Of his powers of mind it is superfluous 
to speak ; they were acknowledged wherever they 
were known. It would be idle, too, to say, what hopes 
were entertained of him, and what he might have 
accomplished in literature. This volume contains 
specimens of what he has left, immature buds, and 
blossoms shaken from the tree, and green fruit ; yet 
will these evince what the harvest would have been, 
and secure for him a remembrance. 

' Thou soul of God's best earthly mould, 
Thou happy soul ! and can it be 

That these 

Are all that must remain of thee ? ' 

Wordsworth." 



INTRODUCTION. xli 

The following tribute to the memory of our friend 
has been kindly furnished for insertion in this vol- 
ume, by one who knew him well, the distinguished 
American poetess, Mrs. Sigourney. Its justice is 
equalled only by its beauty. 

AUGUSTUS FOSTER LYDE. 

Thou wert a musing student o'er thy book, 
When first I saw thee. Yet the eagle's wing 
Soars not more duly sunward, than thy mind 
From cliff to cliff of knowledge urged its way, 
Kindling and glorying at the proud career. 
A ripe, rare spirit wrought within thy form 
Of boyish beauty. 

But thy glance grew deep, 
Feeding on secret, solitary thought, 
With speechless joy. For thou didst hear that voice 
From voiceless Nature, — in the wind that swept 
Around thy cloistered casement, in the stream 
Freshening the foliage of yon classic grove, 
And in the whisper of the lone wild flower, — 
Which none but poets hear. Thy wakened lyre, 
Sweet son of song ! won thee warm brotherhood 
With many a loving heart. 

Yet not the realm 
Of ancient Learning, thronged with classic shapes, 
Nor rose-wreathed Poesy's delightful bowers. 
Contented thee. Thy soul had holier aims, 
And from Castalian waters meekly turned 
To the pure brook that kissed thy Saviour's feet, 



xUi INTRODUCTION. 

What time to dark-browed Olivet he went 
For lowly prayer. And ever o'er thine hour 
Of deep devotion China's millions stole, 
Blind, wandering, lost. 

And then thou didst dismiss 
The host of pleasant fancies, that so long 
Had made thy pilgrimage a music-strain, 
And for the outcast heathen pledge thy life, 
A diamond, to the treasury of thy Lord. 
— Heaven took the pledge; — yet not for weary years 
Of toil, and pain, and age : — there was a flush 
On thy young cheek, — a fire within thine eye, — 
A failing of the footstep, that was wont 
To tread green earth so firm and buoyantly, — 
A wasting of the half-ethereal clay; — 
Heaven took the pledge, and thou art all its own. 

h. H. S, 



POETICAL REMAINS 



OF 



AUGUSTUS FOSTER LYDE 



" Nam vitiis nemo sine nascitur j optimus illc est, 
Q,ui minimis urgetur." 

HoR. Sat. I. III. 68, 1 



' Hushed is the Lyre, — the hand, that swept 
The low and pensive wires, 
Robbed of its cunning, from the task retires. 

'Yes, — it is still, — the Lyre is still 5 
The spirit, which its slumbers broke, 
Hath passed away, . 

'Yet I would press you to my lips once more, 
Ye wild, ye withering flowers of poesy ; 
Yet would I drink the fragrance which ye pour, 
Mixed with decaying odors." 

H. K. White. 



TO 

MESSRS. LOCKWOOD, HANSON, AND BOONE, 
MISSIONARIES IN CHINA 

OF THE PROTESTANT EPISCOPAL CHURCH IN THE UNITED STATES 
TO 

THE SURVIVING MEMBERS OF THE CLASS 

WHICH GRADUATED IN THE YEAR 1834 

FROM THE GENERAL THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 

OF THE PROTESTANT EPISCOPAL CHURCH IN THE UNITED STATES ] 

AND TO 

THE ALUMNI GENERALLY OF THE SAME INSTITUTION ; 

THIS MEMORIAL OF 

LYDE 

IS DEDICATED BY 

T. H. V. 



The memory of the just is blessed." 



' These honors, Lyre, we yet may keep 5 
I, still unknown, may live with thee, 
And gentle zephyr's wing will sweep 
Thy solemn string, where low I sleep. 
Beneath the alder tree. 

'This little dirge will please me more 
Than the full requiem's swelling pealj 
I 'd rather, than that crowds should sigh 
For me, that from some kindred eye 
The trickling tear should steal." 

H. K. White. 



POETICAL REMAINS 



STANZA, 

PREFATORY TO HIS ALBUM.* 

Fair is the wreath round friendship's brow entwined, 
Friendship, so dear to every noble mind ; 
Earth were a wilderness, her power once lost ; 
Man, a sad shipwreck o'er life's ocean tost. 



* In the remainder of this volume the notes are by the Editor. As 
these poems were many of them written upon detached sheets and scraps 
of paper, and the rest copied carelessly into an Album, the Editor has 
been obliged frequently to furnish their titles. The age of our Author, 
when the several pieces were composed, will be given, whenever it can 
be done. The stanza above was written when he was about fourteen 
j'ears of age. 



1^ 



HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD.* 

He gave to memory all he had, — a tear; 

He gained from Heaven, 't was all he wished, a friend. 

Gray. 

Far o'er the billows, — far away, 
My heart, my hopes, my wishes stray ; 
By night, — by day, — bright visions come. 
To tell me of an absent home. 

Home of my childhood ! though I rove 
Far, — far from those whom most I love, 
My tearful eye shall ever be 
Fixed gazingly alone on thee ! 

Friends of my youth ! who loved to share 
The sorrows of a falling tear. 
Back to that sunny home ye 've gone, 
And left me friendless and alone ! 

Alone ! alone ! not one whose breast 
May pillow all my care to rest ! 
And, when this bosom beats so high, 
May calm it with one kindly sigh ! 

Kind Grandsire ! on whose trembling knee 
I 've prattled oft an infant's glee. 
Whose glistening eye so often smiled 
Upon thy fondled, favored child, — 

* Written, probably, at sixteen. 



HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 

Thou, who would'st bend thine aged head, 
And weep above my feverish bed, — 
Thou, in whose kind and throbbing heart 
I held the fondest — dearest part, — 

Oh ! if to happy souls 't is given, 
To wander from the joys of Heaven, 
Then bring a blessing with thee now, 
And lay it on this beating brow ! 

That sunny beach ! — that sloping shore ! 
Where I have seen the ocean pour 
Its legioned billows, to uptear 
The bounds its Maker planted there ! 

Ye winds ! whose wings so soon will reach 
The quiet of that moaning beach ! 
Tell it, — the boy remembers yet, 
He never — never can forget. 

Home of my childhood ! could I stand 
Once more upon thy sea-washed strand, 
Nor wealth, nor fame, nor joy, nor pain, 
Should tear me from that spot again. 

Far o'er the billows, far away. 
To thee my heart's best wishes stray! — 
I loved thee much, — I loved too well ; 
Farewell to thee ! farewell ! farewell ! 



YOUTHFUL ATTACHMENTS.* 

In the bright sunshine of our happiness, 
When all above, around, beneath, is bliss, 
When innocence and loveliness combine 
To please the heart round which they fondly twine, 
'Mid those glad hours there smiles one fairy spot, 
Man in his day-dreams never yet forgot. 
Round which, on fancy's wing he lingers still, 
To soothe the thoughts of past and present ill : 
And as at last he slowly from them turns, — 
Like widowed dove, whose breast instinctive burns 
For those she loves, — his grief-torn heart still strays 
O'er the bright visions of those happy days. 
Which, like fair jewels in some wilderness. 
Shine 'mong the mouldering ruins of his peace. 
Then hear the simple tale of youth again, — 
'T will while away a moment not in vain, — 
'T will bring to mind the happy past once more, 
And help to live departed pleasures o'er. 

Does the lone mariner, at midnight hour. 
When heaving billows brave the seaman's power, 
Think oft with sadness of his smiling home, 
And vow in silence never thence to roam, 



* Written at fifteen^ and delivered at an exhibition of the 0. B. <J., a lit- 
erary society in Washington College^ December 18lh, 1828. 



YOUTHFUL ATTACHMENTS. 9 

If once restored ? — So would we muse on joys 
We once possessed, and mourn with you their loss. 
In youth, — when first we smile on nature's sweets. 
And beauteousness our roving fancy greets, 
When all we see is gemmed with fairy light, 
And all conspires to enchant our ravished sight, — 
'T is still our sweetest transport to impart 
These young emotions to some friendly heart. 
But can we seek a friend, when youth has flown, 
While with it pleasure and her train have gone ? 
No, — when we raised our wondering eyes on high, 
And gazed upon the orbs in yonder sky. 
Eternal lamps that shine without decay. 
To light each heaven-born seraph on his way. 
We fondly thought, that like us there were those. 
Whose bosoms heaved 'mid nature's sweet repose, 
Gladdened by all below, that meets the eye 
Of earth's poor traveller, as he wanders by. 
'T is now, our feelings and our hopes are warm. 
We tread the paths of youth without alarm. 
And though the adder 'neath some rosy bower 
Waits but to dart his sting in evil hour. 

Plant not the thorn amid our present bliss. 
Give us, though vain, the dreams of promised peace. 
Yet, as through life's dark path you lonely stray. 
With caution pluck the flowers along your way : 
All have been blithe and innocent and young. 
And on the breast of friendship all have hung. 
We thought 't was sweet to listen to the tone 
Of one, whose joys and griefs were all our own : 



10 YOUTHFUL ATTACHMENTS. 

Those hours bloomed fair with raptures ever new, 

And still how fair to retrospection's view ! 

Where is the joyless soul that cannot glow 

With flame which towers above all else below. 

When Friendship offers all that she can give, 

And bids desponding hearts revive and live ? 

Who, that a cold unfeeling form would be, 

Without the heart's responding minstrelsy, 

A stranger to that soul-exalting love. 

Which seraphs taste in yonder courts above ? 

I would not barter feelings such as these. 

For each bright gem beneath the stormy seas ! 

Oh ! 't is a Paradise to live below. 

When ecstasies like these from pure hearts flow ! 

I knew a friend who shared my every thought, 
To him I oped my faithful breast unsought. 
With him I roved where fancy led the way. 
As from life's weary path we roamed away : 
No deep deceit beneath a smiling face 
E'er lured the prey to ruin and disgrace ; 
But all was openness, — each moving look 
The freedom of his noble heart bespoke ; 
My cares, — since cares there are for thoughtless 

youth, — 
I laid before his eye with guileless truth. 
Yes ! I have heard men tell of faithless friends. 
Whose love, like flowerets 'neath the rude storm, 

bends ; 
He was my refuge from the storms of life, — 
A shelter from its bitter cares and strife. 



YOUTHFUL ATTACHMENTS. 11 

But youthful raptures soon decay, 

Each gem of brightness fades away : 
The groves, — where we so oft did roam. 

And rise on fancy's wing to Heaven, 
And, while we viewed that Sabbath home, 

Would clasp the hopes to mortals given, — 
Those haunts must die ; the whispering brook, 

Whose moss-decked banks we sported near, 
On whose calm surface we would look. 

Dreaming our joys were mirrored there, — 
The wild rose, too, — whose dew-washed flowers 

Smile like a sleeping cherub-boy, — 
Must fade away, like twilight hours. 

Ephemeral as each infant toy. 

I 've seen the stag in his sportive mood, 
Tramping along through the darkened wood, 
Pausing, — then, wild as the breath of morn. 
He flies at sound of "the huntsman's horn." 
Each streamlet he passed, he knew full well, — 
For at noon-day hour he there did dwell j 
Each hillock and dell, that met his eye. 
Told where he gambolled in days gone by ; 
His comrades fell in the bloody chase. 
And left him lone, — the last of his race: 
But the quick step of the ruthless hound 
Proclaimed his foe near. One desperate bound ! 
One struggling leap ! and he stands to die, 
While big tears roll from his dark, bright eye ! 
The struggle's short, — the contest is o'er. 
The lord of the woods remains no more. 



12 YOUTHFUL ATTACHMENTS. 

So we, when drooping age shall come, 
And point us to the welcome tomb, 
Shall pause, as memory's fading rays 
Illume the scenes of former days. 
And trace each line of beauty there, 
In distance shrouded soft and fair. 
Within these circling wreaths of green. 
Which sweetly hang in nature's sheen. 
Where beauty's lily hands entwine 
A dearer wreath than laurelled vine, 
Full many a heart is beating high. 
To meet the look of some bright eye. 
Whose thrilling look defies control, — 
Fair Friendship's very life and soul. 
These scenes the heart can ne'er forget, 
No ! treasured in its chambers yet. 
They '11 live, when youth and manhood's day 
Have sunk in weary age away ! 

As traveller, wandering in some foreign clime, 
'Mid crumbling piles that mark the track of time. 
Or gazing on some ruined edifice. 
Which basked in olden time in smiles of peace, 
Views but its grandeur, — all its beauty gone, — 
And stands o'erawed before the sculptured stone. 
The memory of departed joys still lives. 
Mellowed by thoughts which retrospection gives ; 
Its brighter hues have faded long away. 
But left the softer tinge of youthful day. 
Yet there are joys awaiting us above, 
The happy fruits of that devoted love. 



A PARAPHRASE. 13 

Which bloomed awhile below! There Friendship lives, 
Blest with each balmy breath that Heaven gives, 
A goodly plant, that droops in mortal climes. 
To bloom the fairer yet in happier times ! 



A PARAPHRASE OF HABAKKUK iii. 17, 18. * 



Although the fig-tree shall not bloom. 
Nor give to Heaven its sweet perfume ; 
Although the vine no fruit shall bear. 
Nor purple grape hang clustering there ; 
Although the tender flock must go. 
And grazing herds all perish too ; 
Yet I will glory in the Lord, 
Who does these kindly gifts afford, 
And humbly kiss thy chastening rod, 
My gracious Master and my God ! 

* Written, probably, at sixteen. 



14 
MAN WAS NOT MADE TO MOURN. 

" Man was made to mourn." — H. K. White. 

Oh ! tell me why man 's made to mourn, 
As on the stream of life he 's borne ; 
Why years unnumbered still pass on, 
Leaving no wreck of what has gone ! 

The flower may fade, — its leaves may fall, 

Reviving Nature quickens all ; 

But " man was made to mourn ! " 

Should trembling kings bow to his will, 

Or India's wealth his cofl^Brs fill. 

Death's cruel hand the gift will grasp. 

Him earth will to her bosom clasp ; 

The poor, the rich, there soon must lie, 
Where ne'er is heard or groan or sigh. 
For "man was made to mourn." 

Affection's ties his soul may bind, 
Love's dearest hopes his heart may find. 
Nothing is certain, nothing sure. 
Nothing can here be called secure ; 

The withered cheek, the sunken eye. 
Remind us that we all must die. 
Since " man was made to mourn ! " 

When, in some distant barbarous land. 
Beyond the reach of Christian hand, 

* Written at fourteen. 



MAN WAS NOT MADE TO MOURN. 15 

He soars on fancy's airy wing, 

Above the power of bolt or ring, 
Reality soon heaves in sight. 
Its ghastly horrors come to light ; 
Sure '^ man was made to mourn ! " 

But there 's a strait and narrow way. 
That leads to Heaven's eternal day ! 
Then floods may beat, the earth may quake, 
Creation to its centre shake ; 

Still we 've a hope that 's always proved 

Eternal, lasting, and unmoved ! 

Is man, then, " made to mourn " ? 



16 



THOUGHTS BY THE HUDSON.* 

Proud Hudson! on thy deep, thy shadowed stream, 
Ten thousand beauties in their stillness lie. 
Ten thousand glories on thy waters gleam, 
Ten thousand scenes encircle thee, that vie 
With aught that earth can boast ; — and it is thy 
Prerogative, and thine alone, to lave 
The goodliest land beneath this western sky, — 
To send in grandeur on thy proudly crested wave, 
Bearing the wealth and power of those whom earth 
calls brave ! 

Fair Hudson ! 't is for this we love thy name, 
'T is this that makes thy children love thee more ! 
Till now, thou still hast been the unchanging same ! 
Those woods of green, that gently sloping shore. 
The mists, that climb thy mountain banks, and soar 
To heaven that gave them, the light barks that go 
On with their errands, — where, in time before, 
Untrodden cliffs and forests listened to the flow 
Of rippling waters from their rocky beds below ! 

These are the same, — and these are all thine own, 
The beauteous same they were in days gone by ! 
Thy cliff-built banks are changed, — but thou alone 
Bearest no change upon thy joyous face ! 
But thou art young, — and fancy's eye can trace 

* Written near West Point, probably at the age of sixteen. 



THOUGHTS BY THE HUDSON. 17 

The lines of youth upon thy smiling brow ! 

Ay ! young to us, — though Nature's simplest race 
Would wildly gaze upon thee, and in silence bow 
To Him, who made thee such, " as we do now ! " 

Oh ! I have seen men look on thee, — then turn, 

And coldly say, " It is a lovely scene " ! 

And I have felt my youthful bosom burn. 

To think that there were those so cold, so mean. 

That when they viewed thee, robed in all thy 

sheen, — 
A living thing of youth and love and light, — 
In all thy brilliancy and beauty seen, — 

They would not kneel them down, and make the rocky 
height 

Whereon they stood, a shrine to worship God aright ! 

There 's moonlight on thy waters once again : — 
And rippling waves, that wash the pebbly shore, 
Driven by the angered tempest from the main. 
Are borne where ocean's voice is heard no more ; 
And each comes whispering to the beach, to pour 
Its little tale of gladsomeness and glee 
Along the rocks, that reared their crags before 
The fairest things of Nature's works began to be, — 
That smiled upon Creation's earliest infancy ! 

The Alpine height, that lifts its cliff above, 
And seeks proud commune with the things on high. 
Where half-fledged eaglets round its summit rove, 
And swift-winged lightnings on their errands fly, 



1» THOUGHTS BY THE HUDSON. 

Bears the wild impress oi^ sublimity ; 
But, when that man has fixed his dwelling there, 
And rears his harvests 'neath a favoring sky, 
Beauty sits throned amid those scenes so passing fair, 
Where the wild peaks before in nature's stillness 
were ! 

So with these mimic waves. Once they have been 
Amid the tumult of an angry deep, 
Where the fierce tempest-spirit might be seen, 
Piling the waters in a billowy heap. 
Proud contest from their foaming heights to keep 
With rocks that dared to brave him in his might : 
But now in cherub loveliness they sleep. 
Doubling the glories of the glorious things of night. 
Making the stars that twinkle o'er them seem more 
bright ! 

There 's music on thy waters : — oh ! how sweet ! 
The sound has passed. But then its melody 
Is stealing o'er thy noiseless waters yet. 
With its unearthly richness floating by ! 
Oh ! I could soon hush up each heaving sigh, 
Forget for ever sorrowing and woe. 
And, swan-like, 'mid such music gladly die ! 
Would it but come once more ! alas ! 'tis ever so; 
The loveliest things on earth will always soonest go ! 

I dreamed of Heaven in happy dreams ; I woke 
To the deep thunders of the evening gun. 
Which forth from silence in its grandeur spoke. 
To bid its farewell to the setting sun, -— 



PRAYERS OF THE GOOD. 19 

"Another day of useful greatness gone ! 
Another day of thy existence past ! " 
And the deep echoes o'er the mountains run, 
To tell the tale to listening silence ; and the waste 
Of woods gives answer to that sound to me the last ! 



PRAYERS OF THE GOOD.* 

Ye stars ! that blaze so bright on Nature's crown, 

Lamps hung in chaos by a hand divine ! 
Ye sentinels, that walk your stated rounds, 

Your mighty rounds, on Nature's still confine ! 
Say ! are those clouds, so beauteous and so bright, 

That float along in mystic beauty there. 
The prayers of good men wafted calmly on. 

To gain an answer from the God of prayer ? 



Written, probably, at sixteen. 



20 



THE ORPHAN.* 

Mother, awake ! the sun has set, 
And darkness spreads along the sky ; 

No silver star is peeping yet. 

And, save the night bird's mournful cry, 

And the winds whistling loud and shrill, 

I hear no sound ; 't is fearful still. 

Mother, awake ! for thou hast slept 
Long on the cold earth by my side ; 

I slumbered not, but watched and wept, 
And yet I knew not why I cried ; 

'Tis bleak and very lonesome here j 

I tremble sadly, mother dear ! 

Ah me ! why wilt thou not awake, 

When I have called thee oft and loud ? 

A storm seems rising, soon will break 
Yon heavy and alarming cloud ; 

Here is no shelter for my head. 

Cold and exposed too is thy bed. 

She hears me not ! how pale and cold 

Art thou, my mother dear ! 
The dead are so, I have been told ; 

She breathes not, — and I fear 

* Written at the age of twelve or thirteen, — and founded upon an inci- 
dent in tiie life of a late English monarch. 



THE ORPHAN. 21 

My mother is no more ! in lonesome woe 
Onward her orphan boy must go ! 

Go ! where ? ah ! God direct me now ! 

Father of all ! my only one ! 
Guide my young footsteps, teach me how 

To live, thy unprotected son ! 
Kind Heaven ! perchance my prayers of grief 
Are heard, and thou dost bring relief! 
***** 
Kind stranger ! list the orphan's tale, 

And do not check soft pity's tear ; 
Though young, she felt misfortune's gale ; 

It has blown bitter and severe 
On her, who slumbers 'neath yon tree, 
Relieved from earthly misery ! 

It is my mother : — from our home. 
An humble cottage, we were driven 

By cruel man, and forced to roam ; 
No roof to shelter us but heaven. 

Which, like my fate, in gloom is shrouded, 

And all its beauties overclouded. 

My father fell in battle strife. 

When I, an infant in the arms. 
Felt not the storms of chequered life, 

Knew nought of direful war's alarms ; 
But that I knew a mother's love. 
My tears of anguish now will prove ! 



22 THE ORPHAN. 

Too young to labor, mother strove 

To gain a livelihood for me, 
And while from place to place we 'd move, 

I cheered her with my childish glee ; 
Unto the town our way we sped 
Through this dark forest ; hope has fled ! 

Yes ! hope has fled, for she, whose love 

Urged her with sickness to contend, 
No longer lives, and I must rove. 

Without a parent, guide, or friend, 
Unless, kind stranger ! thou wilt cheer 
The boy, whose mother slumbers here. 
***** 
Albert de Courcy was his name. 

And on the field of Waterloo 
He fell ; it was a field of fame. 

But ah ! of desolation too ! 
Stranger ! the orphan's prayers are thine, 
May joy and peace around thee shine ! 

Farewell, my mother ! from above 

Now smile upon thy orphan boy ; 
Befriended, cherished now with love. 

Again his heart may throb with joy ! 
Often thy grave, with tearful eye 

And throbbing heart, with flowers he '11 strew ; 
And think, like to thy soul on high. 

Life's faded plant will bloom anew ! 



23 
A FRAGMENT, FROM A SATIRICAL ODE.* 

Si natura negat, facit indignatio versum. — Jur. 

Shame ! shame ! are these the men who 're called 
to stand 
The first and foremost in a happy land ? 
Can learning find no kind reception here, 
No friend to aid her, and no voice to cheer ? 
Are there so few, who care to plead herxause, 
And give us learning while they give us laws ? 
Stay, injured goddess ! yet one moment stay. 
Nor bear the blessings, which thou bring'st, away ! 
Yet, if thou find no welcome on our shore. 
Go ; go, where thou art loved and valued more ! 
Poor soulless wretch ! whom nature never meant 
To grasp the greatness of a government ! 
Go, see what other lands have dared to do, 
And, as you wonder, learn to practise too ; 
Pause for a moment in a sister state. 
And learn, it is her Harvard makes her great ; 
Then go to England's favored clime, and gaze 
On the proud pomp of learning's palaces. 
Her Cambridge and her Oxford ! there they stand. 
The proudest boast and glory of the land. 
Arches on arches piled, that point to heaven. 
The richest presents that her kings have given,t 

* Written at fifteen or sixteen. 

t The following note is appended to the poem in the original manu- 
script. " King's College, Cambridge, the pride and glory of ihe University, 
was founded by Henry the Sixth, and richly endowed by Henry the Sev- 



24 A FRAGMENT, FROM A SATIRICAL ODE. 

The brightest, fairest gems that sparkle now, 

Among the brilliants of her jewelled brow, 

All that a people's gratitude can give 

Back for the blessings under which they live. 

The tribute of her children far and near. 

All in its rich profusion gathered here ! 

Kind Genius of my country, come ! Oh come ! 

And shed one blessing more on this our home ! 

Grant us to feel, with still expanding mind. 

That Learning's foe can ne'er be Freedom's friend, 

That, when in after times the hand of fame 

Shall wreath green chaplets round each honored 

name, 
Theirs may the brightest and most honored be, 
Who were the friends of learning and of thee ! 



enlli. Queen's College was founded by Margaret of Anjou, the wife of 
Henry the Sixth. Christ's College, and also St. John's, were founded by 
Margaret, Countess of Richmond and Derby, the mother of Henry the 
Seventh. Trinity College, possessing ' the most considerable establish- 
ment' in the University, was founded by Edward the Third, but received 
its chief endowments from Henry the Eighth. The endowments of 
Queen's College were increased by Elizabeth Widville, the wife of Ed- 
ward the Fourth. Oxford bears among its patrons the names of Henry 
the First, Richard the First, Edward the Second, Henry the Eighth, and 
Charles the First. Christ Church College was founded by the unhappy 
Cardinal Wolsey." 



25 



THE HIGHLAND FIGHT.* 

"The clansmen on every side stripped their plaids, prepared their arms, and 
there was an awful pause of about three minutes, during which the men pullin<» 
off their bonnets raised their faces to heaven and uttered a short prayer, then 
pulled their bonnets over their brows and moved onward ! 

Waverlev. 

Silent and hushed and motionless ! 
A death-like pause of breathlessness ! 
Ten thousand thoughts, all wild and deep, 
Which, in their frightful passage, sweep 
Across those breasts, that beat so high 
With throbs of proud expectancy ! 
But not a whispered word to break 
That silence ! kingdoms were at stake ! 
Kings to be made or be undone. 
And battles to be lost or won ! 
The eyes of anxious nations bent 
Towards this angry tournament ! 
Long gathering wrongs avenged not, 
Smothered till now, but ne'er forgot ! 
Anger, and hate, and hope, and fear. 
All, in their might concentred here ! 

To-morrow ! Oh that word to-morrow ! 

How full of love and hope and sorrow ! 

To-morrow ! it may never come ! 

To-morrow — may be in the tomb ! 
And there, in prayerful silence now. 
Uncovered is each beating brow, 

* Written in October, 1831. 
3 



26 THE HIGHLAND FIGHT. 

And every lip is quivering there, 
As it gives forth its whispered prayer ; 
Each daring fault, and broken vow. 
And crimes, — all, all, remembered now ! 
Whole years of crime of every die 
Memory brings back most painfully ; — 
Children, and wife, and all who press 
Around each heart in tenderness ; 
Oh God ! preserve their helplessness ! 
Youth's brow of pride and eyes of light, 
And age's hairs so purely white. 
The morning wind swept softly o'er ; 
It never seemed so sweet before ! 
They thought upon that far-off home, 
Whither their feet might never come ; 
One tear ! it was the only one ! 
Father in Heaven ! thy will be done ! 

On ! on ! for the notes of our bugles are swelling, 
Their war-cry is forth upon mountain and wave ; 

On ! on ! where the claymores of Scotland are telling. 
Their cause is the cause of the loyal and brave ! 

Where the swords of our foemen are flashing the 
brightest. 
Where the shout of the battle is longest and loudest, 
There the heart of the Highlander ever is lightest, 
And its throbs are the freest and strongest and 
proudest ! 



THE HIGHLAND FIGHT. 27 

On ! on ! with the banners we love waving o'er us, 
And the friends of our hearts pressing round to 
defend us ! 

Disgrace is behind and glory before us ; 

The blessings of Heaven and Scotland attend us ! 



^ f 
f 



There 's a sigh for the names of the dead 
For the brave men whose spirits have gone 
They fell in the flush of the fight that they won ; 

There 's a sigh for the names of the dead ! 

There 's a tear o'er the graves of the dead ! 
Where they sleep their calm death-sleep at last ; 
Their memory is here, though their footsteps have 
passed, — 

There 's a tear o'er the graves of the dead ! 



28 



A MOTHER'S LOVE.* 



A mother's love ! a mother's love ! 

That sound of holy loveliness ! 
All know full well, — but few can tell, 

How full of heaven and joy it is ! 

A mother's love, — when sickness comes, 
With all its train of feverish ill, 

To blight and wither up the soul, — 
Yes ! even in death, — is with us still ! 

Across life's dark and troublous water. 
Amid the gloom, there shines from far 

A bright, unflickering blaze of light, 
A mother's love's bright beacon star ! 

My mother ! on my dying bed 

Thy hand shall smooth my weary pillow. 
And on my cold, cold grave, at last 

Shall plant the stilly weeping willow ! 

* Written; probably, at sixteen. 



2d 



ORIGIN OF THE NIGHT-BLOOMING CEREUS. 

Long — long ago, — ere poets sung, 
While heaven was bright, and earth was young, 
When man was pure, and angels' eyes 
Gazed on the sweets of Paradise, — 

'Twas then,— within a jasmine bower, 

A seraph paused at evening hour, 

To listen, as it swelled along. 

To heaven and earth's commingled song. 

He knelt to worship, — but his tongue 
Refused to breathe that seraph song ; 
One sin had passed his holy breast, 
And robbed it of its wonted rest. 

He looked to heaven, — but heaven was dim, — 
Its music had no charms for him ; 
Rich sounds through its bright courts were stealing, 
His harp was hushed, — his heart unfeeling. 

He knelt, — and in a burning prayer. 
Poured his whole soul in sorrowing there ; 
He raised his tearful eyes to heaven, — 
He wept, — and prayed, — and was forgiven. 

And where (as angels' legends tell) 

Those tears of deep repentance fell, 

3# 



30 A FRAGMENT. 

Amid the perfume of that bower, 

There sprang this nightly blooming flower. 

And still, on each returning year, 
The night he shed that sorrowing tear, 
It spreads its beauteous leaves to heaven, 
The emblem of a sin forgiven. 



A FRAGMENT. 



The contest was unequal ; 

For mightier minds rose up, and purer hearts 
Rose up, with all the sympathies of men. 
And with the blessing of the God of truth, 
The favored champions of Righteousness. 
That was a glorious day for Virtue's cause. 
That saw the meeting of conflicting minds. 
Host against host, and banner against banner. 
The triumph of the cause of God and man. 



31 



SWITZERLAND.* 



'T WAS night ; for nature's self had sunk to rest, 
And stillness hung o'er mountain, lake, and plain : 
Man slumbered, and forgot the cares of life, 
Since all around was hushed to quietness ; 
And all was silent as the trackless wild. 
There came no moan upon the passing breeze, 
The moon looked out upon the stilly scene. 
And winds forgot to howl around the cliffs, — 
Their olden haunts, — while sporting with her beams. 
Night's dewy showers fell fast; — and, where at eve 
I viewed the glories of a western sun. 
Bright stars were twinkling in the azure sky. 
And from their lofty thrones smiled sweetly o'er 
The land beneath. No rampart height, or tower. 
No massive fortress, told the tyrant's home ; 
Its only bulwark was the freeman's breast. 
To his true steel and Heaven it left the rest. 

I stood upon the Alps, — boast of the Swiss, 
That reared their shapeless craggy tops on high, 
And seemed to mock the pigmy works of man, — 
One rocky mass, — one heaven-aspiring height, 
That left the feeble worldling at its base 
To grovel on upon polluted earth. 
While it sought converse with a higher world, — 

* Written at sixteen, and delivered at a Junior Exhibition, April 10th, 



32 SWITZERLAND. 

Nurse of the storm, — the whirlwind's desert home, — 
Where the blast roars around the craggy steep, 
Where echoing caverns catch the thunder's voice, 
And crashing rocks bespeak the lightning's deed. 

Oh ! who could gaze on such a scene as this. 
Nor feel the throb of more than mortal bliss ? 
Who would not feel his mighty soul expand, 
And grasp Creation in its giant hand ? 
Nature's own wildness dwells in grandeur there, 
Where 'mid such grandeur man forgets to fear. 
'T is worth a life, to gaze on scene like this, 
Where e'en Creation sinks to nothingness; — 
To leave mankind and all on earth behind. 
And drink in vigor from the mountain wind. 
Whose breezes bear no tale of grief or woe. 
No sad lamenting from a world below. 
This, — this is joy; — all else on earth is vain. 
All else, save that from Heaven, gives edge to pain. 
There, — where the wild flower in its beauty grows. 
Or the bold mountain torrent onward flows. 
Where the wild chamois takes the daring leap 
From rock to rock, from precipice to steep, — 
There — man forgets what he was born to be. 
And almost thinks himself a Deity. 
Go ! when the setting sun his splendor shows. 
And a rich brilliance o'er his pathway throws; — 
Go ! when he sinks behind the Alpine steep, 
And gives his glory to the western deep ; — 
Go ! when the storm-cloud o'er the rocky wild 
Hath left its folds in fleecy grandeur piled ; — 



SWITZERLAND. 33 

Go ! where each lake a burnished mirror lies, 

Reflecting back the glories of the skies, 

To deck the robe of earth ; — then ask, 

Can man tread soil like this a crouching slave? 

Or sleep in peace within a menial's grave ? 

But they were slaves. The Austrian despot swayed 
His demon sceptre here, — and was obeyed; 
Each cot, once gladdened by the morning sun. 
Told where the savage work of death was done ; 
The wild bird screeched o'er many a scene of grief. 
Where none were near to bring the kind relief; 
And many a floweret hung its drooping head 
O'er the cold breast of the unburied dead ; 
The shepherd boy, when sets the evening sun. 
And twilight shadows round the skies are hung, 
Hushes his pipe amid its plaintive tones. 
To view with saddened heart some mouldering bones. 
Which, long since preyed on by the eagle's young. 
Have bleached through years in every summer sun. 

Cursed be the arm that struck the blow, 
Which laid the son of freedom low ! 
Let willing lightnings sear the hand, 
That strewed its terrors o'er a land, 
Where pleasure danced in every eye, 
And music hushed each rising sigh ! 
But there was one, who roved away, 
As evening lisped farewell to day, 
And where no lingering step was nigh. 
Mused on his country pensively ; 



34 SWITZERLAND. 

Then Brutus-like he fondly swore, 

That she should feel her wrongs no more. 

For he had watched, with boding eye, 

The vulture bird of tyranny 

Perch on his native mountain height, 

And fold its plumes, and cease its flight ; 

Then cursed the hour it reached a shore, 

Where all was happiness before. 

He offered up no sacrifice. 
But raised to Heaven his tearless eyes. 
Tearless, — since it were woman-like 
To weep, where there was need to strike. 
Silent, where Alpine grandeur dwelt. 
Beneath the listening sky he knelt. 
And begged His aid, who always smiled 
On deeds of Freedom's injured child; 
Then rising left the hallowed place. 
Where conscious Nature whispered peace. 
But there were other hearts beside. 
Whose temper he had often tried. 
And found it fully bold and free. 
But not as his, — so great was he ! 
By midnight they would oft convene. 
By all, save the Great One, unseen. 
And pledged their lives, their faith, their all. 
Freely to live, — or nobly fall. 
Spirits so proud would never wear 
The chains that man had fastened there ; 
No ! sooner let the gathering snow, — 
Dread Alpine messenger of woe, — 



SWITZERLAND. 35 

Leave bleaching bones behind to tell 
Where the brave Swiss beneath it fell ! 
The deed resolved on should be done, 
When slowly sank the setting sun, 
Behind Mont Blanc's proud monarch height, 
That stood spectator of the fight. 

As the mighty dash of ocean's spray, 
As the thunders burst by bright noon-day. 
As the eagle's flight, when the huntsman 's nigh, 
As the lightning's flash o'er the blackened sky, 
They came : — 't was the hour of dim twilight. 
When each shrouded orb withheld its light ; 
Not that on deed so daring 't would frown, 
Or souls so noble unkindly disown. 
But it paused o'er the scene, till all was done. 
The battle fought, — the victory won. 
" Comrades and friends ! " said their leader, '^ fare- 
well ! 
Perchance 't is our last, yet welcome, farewell : 
Life is to me as the weed I would throw 
On the murderer's grave, where lies he low ; 
'T was given from the land that awaits me above, 
But I give it in turn to the land I love ; 
With a patriot heart, and a daring hand, 
Strike ! for our own injured Switzerland ! " 

Where a couch was spread at evening shade. 
Where a princely form was proudly laid. 
Where the eye was closed in thoughtless sleep, 
That promised sweet visions and slumbers deep, 



S6 SWITZERLAND. 

A ghastly corpse in its stead was left, — 

Of beauty, and greatness, and glory bereft : 

For the battle had come; — in the silence of night 

The tyrant had fallen ; he fell in his might. 

Then rose the shout of the warrior free, 

Tasting the first fruits of Liberty ; 

Each voice rang loud, each bosom beat high, 

As they gazed on the dead triumphantly. 

Far in the distance did bright lights shine, 

O'er the peaceful flow of the sleeping Rhine ; 

The glad waters heaved when the tale was told, 

As on, in their grandeur, they proudly rolled ; 

And a nation's praise swept sweetly by. 

And mingled soft tones with the warrior's cry. 

There stands no graven funeral stone. 

To mark the low spot where they laid him j 

In the cypress' shade he yet sleeps on, 

In the shroud that his greatness made him. 

The ivy grows o'er the peaceful spot. 

And wreaths its wild chaplets above him ; 

Where pilgrims repair, who knew him not. 
To weep with his people that love him. 

The Swiss minstrel sweeps the harp's wild note, 
'T is a chieftain's sad evening knell ; 

And angel-like sounds o'er the waters float, 
From the grave of their own William Tell. 



37 



TO J. G.* 



There 's a rain-drop, that rests on the rose-leaf at even, 
And bends it in beauty to silence and rest. 

And a sunbeam of crimson has gilded that rain-drop 
With the last ray of glory that comes from the west. 

There 's a bird in the east, that has stolen from Heaven 
Its name and its plumage, so beauteous and bright 

That it seems, as it floats on its silvery wing, 
A messenger bird from the ^' islands of light." 

There 's a ripple, that comes to the listening beach, 
To whisper its story with tremulous motion. 

When the chime of the vespers steals soft o'er the wave, 
And moonlight is sleeping in peace on the ocean. 

But sweeter and brighter than all is the smile. 
That plays on the lip of her whom we love, 

For the visions it brings, like our dreamings of Heaven, 
Have won all their tints from the regions above. 

There 's many a moment of anguish and sorrow. 
And tears that, alas ! we may never forget ; 

But, 'mid the sighs of to-day and the tears of to-morrow, 
That smile, — oh that smile ! — it will go with us yet. 

* Written, probably, at seventeen. 

4 



s BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST.* 

Sad, sad was the breathing of holiest fire, 

That swept its low moan o'er the prophet's waked 

lyre ; 
And mournful the echoes that floated along. 
The dirge of the dead, — the wild requiem of song. 

Oh Babylon ! Babylon ! woe be to thee. 
The pride of the earth and the queen of the sea ! 
For the sin of thy people the word has been given, 
The lament of the prophet, — the mandate of Heaven! 

And ages on ages returnless have flown, 

Since the doom of thy pride and thy splendor was 

known ; 
But he who hath gazed on thy ruins can tell, 
That the words of the prophet are answered too well ! 

Green, green o'er thy towers the wild ivy is creeping. 
And silent beside thee the waters are sleeping. 
Save when touched by the wing of the bat in his flight, 
Gone forth on his errand of silence by night ! 

Cold, cold o'er thy ruins the night wind's low moan ! 
'T is the sigh o'er the days of thy pride that have gone, 



* Spoken at Commencement, August 5th, 1830. See the fifth chapter 
of Daniel; for the basis of this poem. 



BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST. 39 

The voice of the dead, — where the living are still, — 
Borne forth from their charnel, all voiceless and chill ! 

Peace, peace, to the dust of the brave where they 

sleep ! 
Their slumbers be peaceful, — their quiet be deep ! 
Let spring bring her chaplets and flowerets most fair, 
And strew them, and weave them in loveliness there ! 

In Babel 't is a festal night : — 
On Babel's towers the lamps are bright ; 
There, in their brilliancy they shine, 
Like gems upon an ebon shrine. 
And meteor-like are glaring high. 
To light the darkness of the sky. 
Heaven's darkest, deepest, blackest gloom, 
Still as Creation's voiceless tomb. 
Not even a lisping breath of air 
Wakes from its infant slumbers there ! 
A noiseless, starless, breathless sky, 
Hushed into deep expectancy ! 
But still on earth there is a cry 
Of wakeful mirth and revelry ; 
For Babel keeps her festal night, 
And all her lamps of holy light 
Are flashing, in one ceaseless gleam, 
Across Euphrates' waveless stream. 

Flash on ! ye holy fires, flash on ! 
Your brilliant life is nearly gone ; 
There is a meaning in the sky, 
Dark prelude of your destiny! 



40 BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST. 

Home of the lightning and the storm ! 

Strange semblance of Jehovah's form I 

There is a meaning in the shape 

Your shadowy forms will sometimes take ; 

As 't were the marks which feelings trace, 

In hurried outline on the face 

Of the still future ; — all that 's given, 

To show frail man the will of Heaven. 

The moon-lit cloud, so bright, so fair, 

Gives hopes of joy and gladness near ; 

The scattered mist, that hurries by 

In fitful passage o'er the sky, 

Foretells the tears that pass away. 

Remembered but with yesterday ; 

But the dark sky of angry frown, 

That hangs in blackening stillness down. 

Tells of the deepest, saddest woe. 

That mortal man may taste or know. 

And Babel's King was on his throne. 
And Babel's princes round him shone. 
And Babel's youth and beauty — all 
Are gathered in that glittering hall : 
Young hope and love are beaming now 
From every fair and noble brow. 
Where pomp and pageant move along 
To the rich melody of song ; 
The clanging horn, the melting flute, 
And sweetly pensive, plaintive lute, 
Wake the hushed echoes of that pile, 
And swell along each vaulted aisle. 



BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST. 41 

Then, touching on some softer strain, 

Sink to their holy rest again. 

Circassia's lovely ones are there, 

And Arab maid of raven hair, 

That floats, in playful tresses, down 

A neck of loveliest, richest brown, 

With laughing eyes, that brightly flash, 

Beneath the long and dark eye-lash. 

Like India's pearls in ocean cave. 

That sparkle through the sleeping wave ; — 

All, that is beautiful and fair. 

Is gathered in full splendor there. 

^^ Bring forth," that monarch said, "bring forth 
Those golden cups of sacred worth. 
Which my own father's victor hand 
Bore from Judea's captive land. 
Yes ! even from that hallowed place. 
The holiest shrine of holiness. 
Where all their boasted glories dwelt. 
And Judah's bigot prophet knelt, 
He, with his arm these trophies won. 
To swell the pomp of Babylon. 
But Bolus's shrine shall share the spoil, 
He gathered there 'mid blood and toil. 
And Chaldee's king, — his monarch son, — 
Boast the proud name his father won." 

He spoke : and bright, before his throne. 
Those cups of sacred usage shone ; 

4* 



42 BELSHAZZAR^S FEAST. 

And Babel's lords and princes all, 
Who graced that nightly festival, 
Filled up those golden goblets high, 
And drank, in their idolatry, 
'Mid boast of war and shout of sin. 
To Babel's god, and Babel's king. 

Say ! is there poison in that cup. 
That all the joy is withered up. 
Which, in its laughing echoes, burst 
From every lightsome tongue at first } 
Has all that sparkling gladness gone. 
And left you joyless and alone ? 
The quivering lip, — the lifeless eye, 
Gazing in ghastly vacancy, — 
The livid cheek, — the gathered brow, — 
All, all, are cold and voiceless now. 
Jehovah's presence hath been here \ 
And left his awful signet there. 
Read — read it there, poor mortal man, — 
Read if thou dare, read if thou can ! 
Assyria's honors crown the man. 
Who well those mystic words shall scan, 
And all the pride, that monarchs wed, 
Be settled on his princely head ! 

Gaze on ! gaze on ! one withering Iook„ 
Like that the great Archangel took, 
When on the angry bounds he stood, 
That beetled o'er the fiery flood, 
And paused, — accursed there of Heaven^ 
All unrepentant, unforgiven ! 



BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST. 43 

And every eye is fixed intent, 
On Judah's holy prophet bent ; 
His cheek is pale, and o'er his brow 
A holy calm is stealing now ; 
His aged hands, together pressed, 
Are folded gently on his breast ; , 
And, pure as streams that angels sip, 
A prayer is quivering on his lip ; 
His robe as spotless, as the prayer 
In holy accents rising there. 
That kingly crowd ! he heeds them not ; — 
They are alike unseen, forgot ; 
He seems, within the bounds of Heaven, 
To pray that they may be forgiven. 
The struggle 's past ; 't is all in vain. 
He may not ask that boon again. 

The lamps are flickering pale and wan, 
Where life and joy alike have flown, 
And that wide hall is hushed to peace, 
A frightful hush of breathlessness. 
" Thy doom is fixed ! thy course is run ! 
Thy kingly honors all are won ! 
To-morrow's sun shall never rise. 
To shed its splendor on thine eyes ; 
But, ere the midnight hour has fled. 
Thou shalt be numbered with the dead I 
Read on that burning wall, and see 
Those characters of mystery, — 
Read, — ay, and learn, when 't is too late, 
Jehovah's will, — Belshazzar's fate ! 



44 BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST. 

Thou ! who, in an unguarded hour, 
Didst brave thy Maker's matchless power, 
His holy vessels didst profane. 
Blaspheme his temple and his name, 
Thou ! who didst dare Jehovah's might. 
Go, — grapple with him now, to-night ! — 
Thou art weighed in the balances. 
And wanting found in righteousness ; 
The sceptre from thy hands is passed, 
Of Chaldee's monarchs, thou the last ! 
The Mede and Persian share thy throne, — 
The ancient honors of thy crown ; 
And even now their legions come. 
To bear thee to thy long, long home ! 
Farewell ! — a sad farewell for thee ! 
A parting for — Eternity! " 

But hark ! whence comes that echoing shout, 
That daring, deadly, fiendish cry. 
The death-knell to our cherished hopes. 
The long, loud shout of victory ? 
Ten thousand mighty legions rush, — 
Like ocean's fountains, as they gush, 
In billowy deluge, o'er the earth, 
To drown its gladsome peals of mirth, — 
And many nations come from far. 
To swell the angry tide of war ; 
Ten thousand Persians throng the wall. 
Ten thousand tongues for mercy call. 
Ten thousand brave men, in their wrath. 
Have strewed their conqueror's bloody path. 



BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST. 45 

" Arm ! on this sacred spot we '11 stand, 
And battle with them hand to hand ; 
Beneath these age-worn towers we '11 close 
With Babylon's accursed foes : 
Full well I know, to-morrow's sun 
Shall see my life and glories won : 
So let it be ; but this proud crown. 
The mighty dead have handed down, 
Was given untouched, undimmed to me, 
And still untouched, undimmed shall be. 
^Belshazzar's Feast' our battle cry. 
We fight, — we conquer, — but to die ; 
A daring, hopeless, friendless i^ew, 
To king and country ever true ! " 

They fought before that palace gate. 
In the dread certainty of fate ; 
No hope of conquest hovered o'er 
Those banners, steeped in Persian gore ; 
But frantic rage and wild despair 
Are gathered in one conflict there. 
Behind them is the olden shrine. 
Those turbaned warriors deem divine ; 
Before them is their monarch king. 
The conqueror of the conquering ; 
Above them is the angry Heaven ; 
Beneath, the slaves their wrath has riven ; 
And " Onward ! onward ! " is the cry, 
Of those who fight, and those who die ; 
But countless legions onward throng, 
'Mid the red flush of war along. 



46 BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST. 

And those brave men sink, one by one, 
Where all their mightiest deeds were done. 

Within that shrine so redly wet, 
One noble arm is struggling yet. 
Beside that altar pile he stands. 
And battles with the hireling bands, 
The minion hosts that round him press. 
In all their bloody eagerness, — 
A noble stag, at well-fought bay, — 
A tiger, plundered of his prey, — 
He piles their mangled bodies high. 
An offering to his Deity. 
He fought beside that altar well. 
And, fighting nobly, nobly fell. 

Hark ! to the thousand shouts that swell 
Bel&hazzar's warlike funeral knell ! 
As, from the shrine her foes have won, 
Bursts the last shout of Babylon ! 



47 



SKETCHES OF MUSIC* 

SKETCH I. 

"Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music 
Creep in our ears. Soft stillness and the night 
Become the touches of sweet harmony." 

Merchant of Venice. 

Where the proud Alps lift up their cliffs to heaven, 
Where the wild Rhone is dashing on his waves, 
A peaceful spot shut out from all the world 
By mountains, — on whose bold and craggy heights 
Storm spirits held their loudest revelry, 
While at their feet moonbeams were sleeping on, — 
It was a wild, but 't was a peaceful spot ; 
It was his home : and yet it had been long 
Since he had gazed upon its loveliness ; 
War 's angry trumpet summoned him away. 
To fight his country's battles ; he had seen 
Cities and men of different name and clime. 
Had braved the angry storms of northern lands. 
And viewed the splendor of a Persian sunset. 
Had known earth's pleasures and its honors too, 
But yet — they were not home ! — Fourscore summers 
Had left their signet on his hoary head. 
And now he wished to lay his ashes down. 
To sleep their longest sleep in that still place. 

It was a lovely night : the storm had past. 
And cliff, and rock, and shrub, and mountain stream, 

* Written, probably, at sixteen 5 and illustrating the influence of music 
by three incidents familiar to most readers. 



48 SKETCHES OF MUSIC. 

Were quiet in the moonlight, — you might dream, 
It was the eve before Creation waked ; 
And all was bright, save where those Alpine cliffs 
Cast their long shadows o'er the brilliant scene. 
Hush ! hush ! there is a ripple on the waters ; 
And you may hear far, far away the plash 
Of the light oar ! — Nearer and nearer yet ! 
And the trim bark is floating calmly down ; 
And there, before him, the past scenes of youth 
And infancy were sleeping bright and noiseless ; 
They were the same, — as purely beautiful 
To him as ever, — and still loved as much ! 
Was it not heaven to gaze again upon them ? 
But hark ! the sounds of music o'er that wave ! 
Softer and sweeter they are floating now. 
Breathing their richness o'er the silent water. 

"True, other climes may be more fair. 
And fruits and flowers grow lovelier there ; 
Dearer to me than all the rest. 
Thou art the land I love the best ! 

" Our hearts are warm, — our souls are free. 
Our bosoms bound full merrily ; 
Our hearts, our souls, our arms, shall be 
Devoted still to thine and thee ! " 

And could it be ? — It was indeed the same ! 
He knew it from his boyhood up ; — and once 
He loved to listen to the thrilling strain. 
As it rang wild and loud from cave to cave. 
It was indeed the same ! and that, the home, 



SKETCHES OF MUSIC. 49 

Where he had loved so well to hear it sung ! 
He caught the sound, ere it had died away, 
And chanted one more strain ; it was the one 
He used to love the best in days gone by. 

" Oh ! let my sleeping ashes lie 
Beneath thy green sod peacefully, 
Most loved of all, my native land. 
My home, my country, Switzerland ! " 

The song w^as hushed ; the echo came and went, 
And all was still again. That little bark 
Floated as smoothly and as calmly on ; 
But he, who had been guiding it, was sleeping. 



SKETCH II. 



'• And I have loved thee, ocean ! and my joy 
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
Borne, like thy billows, onward ; from a boy 
I wantoned with thy breakers." 

Byron. 

Hail to thy billows ! I will love thee still ! 
Though danger, death, and tempest rest upon thee, 
Yet I will love thee still ! There is a pomp, 
A kingly pride and majesty upon thee ; 
And, when the angry tempest was abroad, 
I have felt fain to mingle with thy waves. 
Amid the angry war of earth and heaven, 
And be borne on with thy billows ! 



50 SKETCHES OF MUSIC. 

Proudly those gallant ships are wafted on, 
And bright the streamers that are flaunting high, 
And soft the breeze that sports amid their folds, 
And calm the waters over which they float. 
It was a goodly sight ; and far from foreign lands 
The God of tempests had preserved them hither. 
Far from the bosom of their sunny homes 
They had gone forth in search of lands unknown ; 
And, though the tempest had been sore upon them. 
Through doubt and death and danger they had come. 
And come in peace. It was a Sabbath eve : 
The Sabbath sun was calmly sinking down. 
And his last rays of heavenly brilliancy 
Rested alike on sail and shore and wave ; 
The very winds and waters were as calm 
As when their Maker bid them, "Peace ! be still." 
And there, in the unbroken sleep of ages. 
The object of their hopes and fears and prayers 
Lay in its loveliness. — " Gracias a Dios ! " 
And ten thousand voices swelled the chorus, 
" Gracias a Dlos ! " and the sound went forth 
In holy majesty upon the waters, 
" Gracias a Dios ! " and the echo came 
Back from the shore in soft and silvery richness. 
And then a strain of sweetest harmony. 
The sound of flute and harp and trumpet, came, 
And rose and swelled in its unearthly sweetness, 
Till the whole air was changed to harmony : 
And then at last, that strain ! it died away. 
Till far, far off upon the rippled sea. 
Its holy music melted into silence. 



SKETCHES OF MUSIC. 51 



SKETCH III. 

«« Oh, surely melody from Heaven was sent, 
To cheer the soul when tired with human strife, 
And soothe the wayward heart by sorrow rent." 

H. K. White. 

There is a land of melody and love, 
There is a land of poetry and feeling, 
And, though the soul that once inspired has fled. 
Still it is lovely. 'T is said that beauty 
Doth seem most fair, most beautiful, in death ; * 
And so, methinks, it is with Italy. 

It was a kingly pile of olden time ; 
And he, who gazed upon its moss-grown tower, 
Its Gothic buttresses and battlements, 
Might know full well it was of "days gone by." 
That night there was a holy festival ; 
And homeless poverty, and titled pomp. 
Were gathered there within those holy walls : 
Crowd after crowd they came, till there they stood 
A vast, a mighty mass of human life. 
In hushed and motionless expectancy. 
And one there was among that multitude, 
A man of princely birth, a man of crime. 
Whose heart was black with many a heinous sin : — 
Ay ! sins of every name and every die 
Were heaped in frightful gathering on his soul. 

The sound was soft at first ; and you might dream 
It was an angel's whisper : — once it rose, 

* See "The Giaour." 



52 SKETCHES OF MUSIC. 

But, like a lamp, it flickered, and went down ; 
And then its sound came back as soft again, 
And wildly swept along that Gothic aisle. 
And swelled through mouldering arch and towering 

dome, 
Till every bosom seemed too full to bear it. 
It told how man had sinned, and God forgiven ; 
It told of sorrow and of penitence ; 
It promised pardon to the contrite heart. 
Peace upon earth, and rest at last in heaven ; 
It told of one who left his father's home. 
And journeyed far away to foreign lands. 
How he had sinned, and suffered, — and had said. 
When sickness, want, and sorrow lay upon him, 
'^ I will arise and go unto my father." 
The strain was hushed : — it paused, — and then 

came back. 
Softer, — and louder, — yet more sweet, it came, 
'^ I will arise and go unto my father." 
And that man of crime ! He looked to heaven. 
In humbled penitence ; and sobbed aloud, 
"I will arise and go unto my father." 
And there, before that shrine, he knelt him down, — 
He wept and prayed, — was heard and was forgiven. 



63 



TO A FRIEND, A YOUNG LADY. 

Say, hast thou seen a summer sky, 
When day's bright beams have gone, 

And left a mellow radiance there, 
Where last their glories shone ? 

And hast thou seen this evening sky 

All pictured on the lake, 
Whose sweetly sleeping waters seemed 

A mimic heaven to make ? 

That sunset splendor passed away. 

Night-shadows gathered o'er 
The spot where all was loveliness ; 
Its bright hues were no more. 

Thus too our joys, our thoughts of bliss. 

Our fond hopes unconfined. 
Will pass away, like twilight scenes. 

And leave no trace behind. 



54 



TO THE SAME. 

'T IS sweet to rove, in gladsome hour, 
From scene to scene, — from flower to flower ; 
'T is sweet to cast the raptured eye 
O'er all that smiles so beauteously. 

The storm may come, — the tempest lower. 
To blast the glories of each flower ; 
But spring's kind beams, and gentle rain, 
Will give it back its sweet again. 

Fair maiden ! youth's wild garlands round 
Thy brow are woven ; may they be found. 
In after times, as green and fair. 
As aught that ever clustered there ! 

But, should life's storm-clouds meet the brow. 
Where youth and beauty gambol now. 
The tempest in its fury may 
A wreath so lovely tear away. 

But Heaven will twine a lovelier there, 
Around thy gently flowing hair ; 
It shall be culled from Paradise, 
And win its fragrance from the skies. 



55 



HUMILITY. * 



I BRING no tale of passion or of war, 
Of empires wasted or of honor won, 
Nor yet of genius that ambition fired, 
Flushed with success and wounded by contempt ; 
A lowlier strain is sweeter far to me, 
I sing the praises of Humility. 
Fairest and brightest of the forms that stoop 
To tabernacle with the sons of men ! 
Thee, from thy dazzling dwelling-place in heaven, 
I now invoke ! Oh breathe into my soul 
A hallowed portion of thy own pure spirit, — 
So shall thyself best plead thy cause with man. 
And win what thou deserv'st, — the prize of love ! 

Humility ! her home is far away, 
Beyond the cloud-built mountains of the air. 
Beyond the untravelled regions of the sky. 
In glory unapproachable to man. 
Where God's own majesty doth sit enthroned ! 
Is it not strange, that one so meek and lowly. 
Should choose a home so high, so bright, as this. 



* Delivered before the Alumni of Washington College, at Hartford, in 
August, 1833. For purity and depth of sentiment, for vigor of imagination 
and power of illustration and description, — and written by a youth who 
had not made poetry his study, — this is a 7nost remarkable production. 
It was the last piece written by our friend ; hastily, and amid the occupa- 
tion of other duties : and it shows how high was the promise of his ma- 
turer years. Yet its intrinsic merits are very uncommon. 



56 HUMILITY. 

Where meet the principalities of heaven, 

In the vast presence-chamber of the Lord of Hosts? 

Should find a worthy welcome only there ? 

Yet angels and archangels, — cherubim 

And winged seraphim, — all, all have learned 

The lowly temper of humility. 

See, where they gathering come, on sweeping wing, 

Cleaving that atmosphere of silvery light, 

Each with a golden crown, and harp more sweet 

Than the soft breathings of the softest lute ; 

See, where they come, — far, far away, — as far 

As angel's eye can reach, a countless host 

Of angel worshippers, each with a song ! 

So is it, too, as far as earth may be 

Like unto heaven, at close of summer eve. 

When each fair singing bird returneth home, — 

Home from its long and weary wanderings ; 

Each brings the tribute of a sunset song. 

And the wide grove is rich with melody. 

And all are gathered now before the throne ! 
Oh, who can tell what rapture is in heaven. 
When all its happy millions meet to praise ^ 
Humility, upon her harp of gold. 
Hath touched the key-note of heaven's harmonies. 
And, as it steals upon the ravished ear. 
You scarce can tell, whether it be not rapture 
Rather than music. 
Soft as the latest light of parting day. 
Sweet as the perfume of the desert rose, 
Melting as is the eloquence of tears. 



HUMILITY. 57 

Earth too has music ; and oft the spirit, 

Weary and heavy laden with its sorrows, 

Doth find a resting-place in melody. 

But, angels' melodies ! the happy soul, 

Amid its gladdest flow of joyous feeling. 

Cannot conceive how passing sweet they are. 

Humility hath touched her harp of gold. 

And, as the sound steals forth on listening silence. 

Each soul grows full of thankfulness and love, 

And each glad heart runs over with emotion. 

Till thoughts seem melted into ecstasy. 

Such are the preludes to heaven's harmonies ; 

None know, but those who ever worship there, 

The unearthly grandeur of that choral song, 

That goeth up around the throne of God : 

Yet there is not a heart, or harp, or voice, 

That 's not attuned to deep humility ! 

Humility hath her bright home in heaven ; 
And yet she sometimes stoops to visit earth : 
Twice hath she come in all her loveliness ; 
But then she came to those, whose hearts were pure 
As the vermilion folds of sunset clouds. 
Where rests the lingering light of parting day, — 
Pure as the quiet tops of the high mountains. 
Holiest of all on earth, as nearest heaven. 
Where never cometh but the moaning wind, 
Or the white snow, or the unsullied light. 

'Tis sunset in the bowers of Paradise ; 
And yet the light lingers upon the flowers. 
As if 't were loth to bid the sad good-night. 



58 HUMILITY. 

It is the hour for worship : — oh how sweet ! 

And there, upon the brow of a green hill, 

Just on the borders of Euphrates' stream. 

They stand, — the earliest dwellers on the earth. 

As yet the holiest. The deep waters 

Lie in the quiet of a sleeping child. 

While the glad wind comes, like a messenger, 

Bearing the perfume of a thousand flowers. 

With all the sweetness of a thousand songs. 

It is the hour for worship ; — and they kneel, 

Hand clasped in hand, upon the grassy sod. 

Read in that eye the eloquence of love, 

The silent eloquence of thankfulness ; 

And then, the quivering lip ! it moves in prayer, 

And such petitions ! Sweet humility ! 

Young Paradise, in all her virgin beauty. 

Was not, methinks, so beautiful as thou ! 

'Tis true, her skies were genial and serene ; 

'T is true, her flowers were delicately fair ; 

'T is true, her music was all wild and sweet ; 

Yet these were all of earth, and thou of heaven ! 

Softly, upon the plains of Bethlehem, 
Slept the clear moonbeams ; and it was midnight. 
Upon a knoll, o'erhung with palms, were shepherds. 
Feeding their flocks by night. Ever and anon 
Came on the wind the hum of the far city ; 
For Bethlehem counts her muhitudes to-night. 
And David's children have come up to pay 
Their servile tribute to a Gentile kine : 
Yet, at a midnight hour, like this serene, 



HUMILITY. 59 

Bethlehem seems as beautiful, as when 
The sleeping patriarch saw the angels come 
And go, from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven. 
But lo ! what sudden brightness ! did the moon 
Break forth from a black night cloud } did a meteor 
Flash out in fitful splendor on the sky ? 
It is the glory of the Lord ; ^^ Fear not," 
His angel comes with messages of love, 
"Thy King is born ; — thy own Messiah King ! " 
Hark ! 'tis heaven's music ! Oh! look up, and see 
The thousand thousand forms of its bright worship- 
pers ; 
And mark, upon their waving wings, the light, 
The softly blending light of earth and heaven ; 
And listen to that strain, — 'tis meant for thee, — 
" Glory to God in heaven ! and peace on earth ! 
Good will to men ! " The glory hath departed ; 
The song hath ceased ; and the last trembling echo 
Hath died away to silence deeper still. 
As softly as before on Bethlehem's plains 
Sleep the clear moonbeams. 
Within a manger, on a couch of straw, 
Slumbered the infant Jesus ; fit beginning 
For a long life of weariness and woe ! 
Hast thou a heart, that 's weary of its pride, 
And seeks for quiet in humility } 
Come, go upon this pilgrimage of sorrow, 
With one, who was in birth, and life, and death. 
The fairest pattern of humility ; 
Come, listen to his converse with the poor ; 
Come, see him bear the proud and cruel scoff; 



60 HUMILITY. 

Come, share the alms that charity has given ; 

Come, watch his slumbers on the cold, cold earth ; 

Come to the passion of Gethsemane ; 

Come to the closing grief of Calvary. 

He came, as doth a lamb unto the slaughter, 

He opened not his mouth ; behold and see. 

If there be any sorrow like unto 

His sorrow ! behold and see, if there be 

Any humility like unto his 

Humility ! 

The sun may lose his brightness, and grow black, 
Even in mid heaven ; the mother may forget 
Her infant child, and be a mother still. 
The human heart may nurse within the chambers, 
Formed by its God for every kind affection. 
Envy, and hate, and cold misanthropy. 
And still remain the heart. Not so with Virtue : 
For she, when parted from Humility, 
Dieth, as surely as doth fade away 
The mimic landscape, from the unrippled stream. 
With the last light of day. 

And so, too, is it with Philosophi/. 
Humility, that loveth to be taught. 
Must go and teach this temper to her sister. 
Yes, it must mingle with the hidden springs 
Of thought, and hope, and feeling, and intent. 
Until the lip, and eye, and inmost heart. 
Speak in sweet unison. So, when she comcth 
To learn the mysteries of God's great works, 



HUMILITY. 6t 

The chastened tones of her inquiring voice 

Will meet a kind response where'er they come. 

To seek for knowledge ! Why, it is to seek 

To hold communion with Omnipotence ; 

To gaze on circling worlds of ceaseless light, 

And ask how Infinite Power sustains them there ; 

To challenge the fierce tempest, as it goes 

On its majestic pathway through the sky. 

And learn on what dread errand it is sent ; 

To catch the leaf that floats upon the wind, 

And ask why its great Maker formed it so ; 

To enter the dark places of the mind. 

And mark the embryo forms of thought and will ; 

To gaze within the crater of the passions. 

And see the heaving throe, the fearful gleam. 

And ask those angry elements what ends 

They answer in God's vast and wonderous plan ! 

Oh, who will carry forth a heart of pride 

On errand such as this ? Say, as we stand 

Within the sanctuary of creation, — 

God's most magnificent sanctuary, built 

Upon the unseen pillars of his power, 

Stretching away beyond the reach of sight. 

Or winged thought, until the burdened mind 

Is weary with its own imaginings, — 

Who will not feel, that this is holy ground ^ 

Who will not feel, that God indeed is great ? 

Who, if he thither come to seek for knowledge. 

Who will not kneel and be a suppliant here } 

There is what men do call Philosophy. 
It goeth forth amid the works of God ; 
6 



62 HUMILITY. 

But mind, and earth, and air, and sky, are still, 
As if the enchanter's magic wand had passed. 
And changed them all to cold and voiceless marble. 
It builds itself a high and kingly throne, 
And sways a tyrant's sceptre ; Truth is led, 
Like a poor captive, at its chariot wheels. 
And suffering Nature mourns through all her works. 
Ah! this is not Philosophy, but Pride ! 

It seems, my brothers, but as yesterday. 
Since first our willing steps were hither bent 
In search of knowledge. Even now we stand 
Just by her golden gates, and gaze away 
Into her labyrinths of loveliness. 
We hear the fearful curse denounced on those, 
Who promised to direct, but led astray, — 
The melancholy cry of murdered peace. 
And yet it almost prompts the tear of joy, 
To think what deep delight, what usefulness. 
Are his, who walks upon that magic ground, 
Yet walks in safety ! 

Who — who will be to us the friend, the guide, 
That will conduct us to our journey's end ? 
Oh sweet Humility ! thy lowly temper 
Shall be to us our Star of Bethlehem, 
Shall guide our footsteps in our wanderings. 
And bring us safely to our home at last ; 
Amid the mazes of bewildered thought 
Thy heavenly light shall rest upon our path, 
And, as we humbly bow to ask for guidance. 
Reveal the hand that kindly points the way ! 



HUMILITY. 63 

There is no sin in Nature ; — and the man, 
Whose spirit holds communion with her spirit, 
Will find a sweet and soothing influence steal. 
Like the strange power of music, o'er his heart ; 
His spirit will forget its wonted pride. 
And learn to worship, as it learns to feel. , 

But he, who seeks to know Humility 
In all her loveliness, must come and gaze 
Upon her likeness in God's holy word; 
His own unerring hand hath sketched it there, — 
So beautiful, it well may win our love. 

It was amid the visions of the night : 
Darkness lay like a mantle on the earth ; 
I dreamed, I stood upon heaven's battlements. 
And lo ! an angel spread his mighty wings. 
And took his flight along the golden wall, 
That girds the courts of everlasting light ; 
And, as he flew, he lifted up his voice, 
And cried, " Humility is dead ! " 
A strange convulsion came upon my frame. 
And the cold sweat stood on my throbbing brow ; 
Thrice did he spread his pinions to the wind, 
And thrice I heard that melancholy cry, 
"Humility is dead!" — and then he paused. 
Even in mid heaven, and folded up his wings. 
And bowed his head upon his breast, and died. 
I looked to heaven ; and from its crystal columns 
The banners of rebellion were hung out, 
And on them written, "God is King no more! " 
Those harps, that late had breathed such rapturous 
strains. 



e^L HU31IL1TY. 

Upon the jewelled pavement lay unstrung ; 
Strange sounds of blasphemy broke on the ear, 
And fearful shouts usurped the place of praise. 
I looked to earth, — - and as I looked I wept : 
Good men forgot their wonted gentleness. 
And higher swelled the angry cry for blood, — 
The blood of rulers whom they late had loved ; 
Earth seemed an amphitheatre, in which 
Man's vilest passions strove for mastery. 
A moment more ; — a rushing, mighty sound 
Came like the noise of many chariot wheels, 
And heaven and earth were hushed to quietness. 
For both were still in universal death. 

My brothers, we have hither come to-day. 
Forth from the turmoil of the busy world, — 
The strife of passion and of interest, — 
Have turned away from sorrow and from care, 
To come to this glad meeting of warm hearts, 
This holy festival of love and joy. 
Unutterable thoughts come o'er the soul. 
With their sweet burden of departed bliss. 
We have scarce learned the rudiments of sorrow, 
And yet these by-gone days seem passing sweet ! 
What then, when years shall come, if come they do, 
And the tired spirit find no resting-place 
From its afflictions, save the past, and heaven ? 
Our memories ! — how very kind they are. 
Just like the summer wind, that comes at eve, 
Upon a bed of roses, that has lain 
In its unruffled sweetness all day long, 



HUMILITY. 65 

And folds their gathered fragrance in its arms, 
A welcome tribute to some other land. 
Oh, you remember all ! — 't is treasured up, 
In the deep chambers of the inmost breast ! 
And, when I touch the chord of college days, 
I wake a thousand hidden harmonies. 
Do not forget them : — they will be to you, 
As are the notes of that strange singing bird. 
That dies in music ; — the last seems sweetest ! 
Do not forget them : — it would be unkind 
Thus to repay the pleasures they have given. 
Do not forget them : — for our early joys 
And early friends are linked in love together. 
By all the friendship you have once professed, — . 
Yes ! by this solemn hour, — do not forget, 



6* 



66 



A VISION. 



In the night watch my vision came and went : 
Methought I stood among the gathered crowd, 
And gazed upon the vivid scene that passed 
In full review before me, — for 't was bright ! 
The tramping steed in rich caparison, 
With eye that almost looked contempt for man, — 
'T was well he should be proud ; for he did bear 
Greatness, and glory, all that men call such ; — 
And, as the splendid pomp was passing on, 
The swelling bugle, and the rolling drum. 
And trump, that tells the greatness of the great, 
Sent forth their music on the sportive wind. 
And brought to memory the glorious past ; 
The din of war came forth with sound so deep, 
And the rich battle-field was pictured there ! 
The cavalcade passed on ; and knight, and plume, 
And glittering arms, and horsemen well attired. 
Shone in their splendor, as they passed along. 

The vision changed : — and music's sweetest notes 
Came with a silken sound upon my ear ; 
Beauty was smiling there with angel charms. 
And shed her radiance o'er the fairy scene ; 
Bright eyes looked love to eyes that shone as fair 
As moonbeams stealing through some silvery cloud; 
And hearts beat high with fond expectancy 
Of coming happiness and hours of bliss ; — 
They thought not, cared not, for the distant future ; 



A VISION. 67 

But each glad heart disowned control, and leapt 
Responsive to the sounds that floated there. 
Yes ! they were sounds a cherub need not blush 
To own, — so soft, so full, and yet so sweet 
They were ! And she was beautiful and bright, 
Who lisped such sounds. I gazed, and turned away, 
Then gazed again on form so more than fair ; 
Hope, youth, and innocence shone from an eye, 
That seemed as if 't would never shed a tear. 
Save o'er the grief of others ; — they, who looked. 
Seemed to forget the gnawing cares of life. 
And thought of heaven, as they were gazing there, 
She was so beautiful ! 



68 



LINES, 

WRITTEN ON SAILING UP THE HOUSATONIC, AUGUST, 1832. 

Hist ! the wandering winds have found thee, 
O'er the waters as they come ! — 

Light and beauty are around thee ; 
Waft us to our welcome home ! 

Hours of calm and holy feeling ! 

Welcome in a holier day, 
While my heart, your pinions stealing, 

Wings her flight to heaven away ! 

Hills, that bend in silence o'er me ! 

Rippling waters, gemmed with light ! 
Flowers, that bloom unknown before me ! 

Holy, pensive, quiet night ! 

Memory will love the hour I met thee ! 

And, wherever I may dwell, 
Never shall this heart forget ye ! 

Hills, and waters ! fare ye well ! 



69 



THE DEATH OF MOSES.* 

He had grown old in serving Israel's God, 
The favored servant of the Lord of Hosts, — 
Whose richest love had ever rested on him, 
More pure, more bright, than the last farewell gleam 
Of yon departing sun ; — a holy man ! 
From that dread hour, when, first on Horeb's top 
He gazed upon the bush that burned unhurt, 
Down to this hour of deep solemnity. 
He had been still the changeless friend of God, 
Had held communion with him face to face. 
Had been commissioned in his mighty name. 
Had ruled till now, a king in Israel. 

Far o'er the sea, in golden majesty. 
The western sun is sinking to his rest ; 
And the bright gloamings of his fading glory 
Are lingering on the hills of Palestine. 
Far, far away, where Pisgah's mountain tops 
Are piled in still ascending cliffs to heaven. 
That sunset light is resting on them still, 
While Nebo lifts his kingly head above. 
So that the sinking sun, before he die. 
May crown it with his richest, brightest blessing. 

Faintly, upon his pale and sunken cheek. 
The noiseless evening wind breathed tremulously ; 

* Written in 1832. See the last chapters of Deuteronomy for the basis 
of the poem. 



■70 THE DEATH OF MOSES. 

And soft upon his smooth, uncovered brow, 

The mellow evening light is resting now. 

His eye undimmed, — with all its brightness still, — 

Is turned to Heaven in looks of penitence ; 

His folded hands are resting on his breast ; 

His heaving bosom swells with strong emotion, 

With prayers for pardon and eternal rest. 

Peace to thy soul ! thy sin has been forgiven ! 

For, o'er that sunken cheek so wan, so pale. 

Hath passed the delicate flush of hope and joy ; 

That tearful eye, so full of penitence. 

Is beaming with a brightness not its own ; 

And on that lip, that trembled with deep sorrow, 

Is resting now a smile as beautiful 

As that which childhood wears in dreams of heaven. 

Oh ye, who tread the dazzling courts of God, 

Or plume your wings amid his holy light ! 

Say, whether from the face of worshipper. 

Cherub, or seraph, or archangel bright. 

There ever beams more of the light of heaven, 

Than rests upon the visage of this man ! 

Slowly, — as from some lonely mountain top, 
The sunlight fades in quiet loveliness, — 
From his calm brow that holy radiance went. 
Before his mind the visions of the past 
Came in the splendor which at first they wore ; 
The glorious workings of Jehovah's power. 
His mighty miracles, his wonderous signs, 
Were wrought again in his imaginings. 



THE DEATH OF MOSES. 71 

. He stood upon the shore of the deep sea, 

And stretched his hand above its angry waters, 

And the dark billows parted here and there, 

To make a pathway for the ransomed ones. 

Lo ! the proud host of Egypt's prouder king 

Is madly treading the same frightful path ! 

"Stretch out thy hand once more above the sea!" 

A moment more ; — and the returning deep 

Lets loose the crested billows of its wrath ; 

The mighty waters sweep as proudly on, 

As if no thousands lay in death beneath them.* 

He stood upon the mount ; — and round its top 
Clouds and thick darkness gathered ; now and then 
The dazzling flashes of the angry lightning 
Pierced the thick darkness, and the deep thunder 
Uttered its awful voice. On that dread spot 
He stood, and talked with God. "f 

He stood in the still cleft of Horeb's mount ; 
And the great glory of Jehovah's presence 
Passed in its awful majesty before him. 
While the Lord God proclaimed his holy name, 
Gracious and merciful, long-suifering. 
The God that pardoneth sin, — the God of Love. J 

The famished host of Israel lay around ; 
And the chill hand of death rested alike 
On the helmed warrior and his lisping child ; 
The frantic mother wildly gazed on it, 

* Exodus, xiv. t Exodus, xix. and xx. :j: Exodus, iii. 



72 THE DEATH OF MOSES. 

And pressed it to her cold, cold breast, and wept. 
While the stern sire lift up his eyes to Heaven, 
And whispered with his latest strength a prayer. 
That prayer is heard : — for lo ! the voice of God, 
"Go smite the rock, that they may drink and live ! "* 
He stood and smote the rock, — but disbelieved. 
Oh, name it not ! it was a grievous sin ; 
It robbed him of his fondest earthly hopes ; 
But o'er it hath been shed full many a tear. 
And o'er it hath been breathed full many a prayer. 
And He, who loves so well to pardon sin. 
Hath wiped it from the book of His remembrance. 

Softly, upon the beautiful earth beneath. 
Lay the calm glory of an eastern twilight. 
And o'er that hour, which always seems so holy. 
Was shed a most unusual sacredness. 
The sun had sunk behind the distant deep ; 
The evening wind was sleeping on its wings ; 
And, far away, — as far as eye could reach, — 
The land of promise lay outstretched before him, 
And its ten thousand hills and woods and streams 
Were quiet as when first creation woke. 
A few bright clouds stood forth against the sky. 
Lingering to gaze upon a scene so holy. 
As saints, that in their musings visit heaven. 
Return more full of light and love and joy. 
So this soft light, reflected from the sky. 
Seemed far more beautiful than first it was. 
It lay upon the camp of Israel ; 

* Exodus, xvii. 



THE DEATH OF MOSES. 73 

And, as the gleamings of the burnished arms, 

And the rich hangings of the purple tents, 

With their embroidered standards drooping o'er them. 

Fell on the enraptured eye, you well might dream. 

It was the host, which once on heavenly plains 

Rested, — when Satan and his impious crew. 

Daring to battle with the Omnipotent God, 

Were vanquished by the glittering hosts of heaven. 

" My people, and the people of my God ! " 

And the deep fountains of his soul broke forth, 

With all their countless streams of love and joy, — 

** My people, and the people of my God, 

The blessing of the God of Israel, 

The blessing of your fathers' God be with you!" 

The latest sound of that departing blessing 

Hath sunk to silence ; — all is hushed again. 

Upon the peaceful summit of that mount 

He sat him down, and leaned his aged head 

Against the rock, and clasped his withered hands. 

One look towards the tents of Israel ; — 

One earnest, fervent prayer for them and him ; — 

One struggling sigh ; — and Moses was not, 

Man hath not reared a princely monument. 
And carved thereon the record of his greatness. 
But God himself, — the High and Holy One, — 
Hath writ within the volume of His truth, 
*' He was a servant of the Lord."* 



* Deuteronomy, xxxix. 5, and in other places. 
7 



74 



"REMEMBER ME."* 

" Remember me," — " remember me ; " 
When far in other lands from thee, 

When distant climes our hands shall sever, 
Oh then in love remember me. 

Through health and sickness, joy and care. 
My varied path of life must be ; 

But where, or what, it matters not, 
So thou in love remember me. 

Then fare thee well whom I have loved ; 

Thy memory still shall cherished be ; 
Return the pledge that I have given. 

And still, oh ! still remember me. 

By young affection's earliest gush, 
By all on earth that 's dear to thee. 

By manhood's pride, and death's cold brow, 
"Remember me," — "remember me." 

* Written, probably, at sixteen. 



75 



REMEMBER THEE ! 

RESPONSORY TO THE FOREGOINa PIECE. 

Remember thee ! that full, o'erhanging brow, 
With mind expanding, is before us now ; 
The sunken eyes, beneath their long, dark lash, 
Now dimly muse, or quick with genius flash. 

The care-worn, Roman face, the lips compressed. 
Effort intense and purpose firm attest ; 
And all, in our sad fancy, now we see. 
And freshly, fondly, still remember thee. 

But on the spirit's image more we gaze ; 

Thy burning thought, and love, thy prayers, and 

praise. 
Thy strugglings for the heathen o'er the sea, — 
On these we dwell, and still remember thee. 

A sweet exotic flower, too soon exposed. 

Just when our nurture its young buds disclosed. 

Amid the changes of this foreign sky. 

Felt the first frost, — to unfold its leaves, and die. 

And, as we sorrowed, when we found it dead, 
Its rarest beauty on the chill earth spread. 
So, brother, for thy loss our tears flow free. 
And, in thy death, we still " remember thee." 

T. H. V. 



76 



EPITAPH ON LYDE, 



AN ACROSTIC, 



Lyde ! beneath the green sod sleeping, 
Youth and promise we are weeping ! 
Death no more thy lyre Is keeping ; 
Endless hymns its chords are sweeping ! 

T. H. V. 



ADDENDA. 



" Vitavi denique culpam, 
Non laudem merui." 

HoR. de Arte Poeticd, 267, 263. 



" Holiness makes the soul like a field or garden of God, with all man- 
ner of pleasant flowers 3 all pleasant, delightful, and undisturbed, enjoying 
a sweet calm, and the gently vivifying beams of the sun. The soul of a 
true Christian, as I then wrote my meditations, appeared like such a little 
white flower as we see in the spring of the year, low and humble, on the 
ground ; opening its bosom to receive the pleasant beams of the sun's glo- 
ry j rejoicing, as it were, in a calm rapture 5 diffusing around a sweet fra- 
grancy ; standing peacefully and lovingly in the midst of other flowers 
round about 5 all, in like manner, opening their bosoms to drink in the light 
of the sun." 

Jonathan Edwards. 



PRELIMINARY NOTE. 



The size of this little volume will readily suggest an apolo- 
gy for the succeeding appendix. The number of leaves, 
occupied by the Poetical Remains of our departed brother, 
and by the brief notice of his life and character, being so 
small, would have been adapted rather to a pamphlet, than a 
bound book : while it is desirable that these Remains should be 
brought forward in a form more suitable for their preservation. 
It was deemed advisable, therefore, to add a few pages ; and 
propriety dictated that these should be of poetry. The follow- 
ing humble verses have been copied, for the occasion, out of a 
Note Book of the Editor. A friend, who saw some of them, 
a short time since, and in whose judgment confidence is en- 
tertained, was kind enough to intimate, that they would bear 
publication. They have been written, in leisure hours, at dif- 
ferent times, and, as such pieces are usually composed, rap- 
idly, and upon very little premeditation. With an exception 
in the case of three or four of the shorter pieces, there has 
been no intention, or remote thought, of their being ever made 
public ; and, in preparing them now for the press, their revis- 
ion has been cursory and far from complete. The Editor 
trusts, that, although they may not be entitled to notice upon 
their own merits, they will be at least tolerated in their pres- 
ent connexion. Better compositions might have been select- 
ed from standard authors ; but most persons prefer to read, in 



80 PRELIMINARY NOTE. 

a new book, original matter, even if poor, rather than selected 
matter, however excellent, which may be elsewhere obtained. 
He must be allowed to say, moreover, that there is, to his 
mind, a sad pleasure in thus associating himself with the de- 
ceased. And he will be pardoned, he is sure, for adding a 
few buds, however homely may be their genus, to a bouquet 
otherwise beautiful, yet too small for the vase without them. 
Leaving this allusion, he would adopt in part the sentiment of 
Richard Steele, in some lines prefixed to Addison's " Tragedy 
of Cato." 

'' Forgive the fond ambition of a friend, 
Who seeks himself, not you, to recommend : 
Soon would that die, which adds thy name to mine; 
Let me then live joined to a work of thine." 

But he sincerely deprecates the severity of criticism in this, 
as in the former, part of the little volume. He knows nothing 
of poetry as an art ; and perhaps he hazards too much upon 
the kindness of the public. He recollects, indeed, to have 
seen in a treatise on the Poetic Art, 

" Omne tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile dulci, 
Lectorem delectando, pariterque monendo." 

And he has the satisfaction of believing, that, in the case of 
the forbearing, if he does not please by presenting what is 
agreeable, he may at least instruct, by presenting what is 
useful. The tendency of the preceding Remains is to recom- 
mend and confirm a religious character: the tendency of the 
following collection, it is hoped, is similar. It may happen, 
that, from their connexion with the previous portion of the 
book, these Addenda will obtain more readers than they would 
without such support ; still, in this event, the Editor will be 
the gainer, while his companion can lose nothing by the con- 
trast. May the book not only gratify curiosity, if indeed it be 
allowed to elicit any attention, but, also, through the blessing 
of God, be a mean of holiness to the reader. 



TO 

THE REVEREND BIRD WILSON, D. D. 

AND TO 

THE REVEREND SAMUEL H. TURNER, D. D., 

PROFESSOKS IN THE GENERAL THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 

OF THE PROTESTANT EPISCOPAL CHURCH IN THE UNITED STATES, 

WHO WERE FRIENDS OF THE LAMENTED LYDE ; 

FOR WHOSE GENEROUS HOSPITALITIES, 
AND PATIENT INSTRUCTION, 

AND CHRISTIAN COUNSEL, 
THE EDITOR ALSO IS VERY LARGELY INDEBTED, 

THESE ADDENDA 

ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 

AS A SLIGHT TOKEN 
OF THE GRATITUDE AND AFFECTION 

OF 

T. H. V. 



" Thou simple lyre ! thy music wild 
Has served to charm the weary hour^ 

Yet, oh my lyre ! the busy crowd 
Will little heed thy simple tones : 
Them mightier minstrels harping loud 
Engross j . . . 

No hand, thy diapason o'er, 
Well-skilled, I throw with sweep sublime ; 
For me, no academic lore 
Has taught the solemn strain to pour, 
Or build the polished rhyme." 

H. K. White. 



ADDENDA 



OUR LIFE. 



" Our days on the earth are as a shadow." — 1 Chrox. xxix. 15. 

" All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field." 
— Isaiah, xl. 6. 

" For what is your life ? It is oven a vapor, that appoareth for a little time 
and then vanisheth away." — St. James, iv. 14. 

Our Life is but a vapor, for a time 

Appearing, and then vanishing away ; 
A flower, that soon upstarteth to its prime, 

Shineth, and withereth, in one short day. 
Our Life is nothing in eternity. 

An only point in perfect plenitude, 
A dream, compared with all reality, 

A thought, that flasheth past, and doth elude 
The mind itself, so transient is its light. 

Life is a moment in time's hurried stay, 
An hour that 's measured, in the ceaseless flight 

Of years, that have no spring and no decay. 
Yet Life, so fleeting, holds within its span, 

An endless life of joy or endless woe. 
Oh God of life ! give life to dying man. 

Give us the living joys that from thy presence flow. 



84 



THE FAREWELL OF REPENTANCE. 

Lines suggested by the following remark of Rowland 
Hill, (Life by Sidney.) 

" If I may be permitted to drop one tear, as I enter the portals of the city 
of my God, it will be at taking an eternal leave of that beloved and profitable 
companion. Repentance." 

" And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes ; and there shall be 
no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain ;, 
for the former things are passed away." — Rev. xxi. 4. 

My fight of faith is fought,* 
My course is finished now ; 

The righteous crown, which Jesus bought, 
Is waiting for my brow. 

My toil is done. 
My triumph won ; 

The pearled portals flashing bright,! 

The holy city's towering height, 

And God's grand throne of glorious light. 

My raptured soul to bliss invite ; 

My fight is fought ! 

My life, safe hid, I see, 

In God, with Christ my Head, J 

* 2 Tim. iv. 7, 8. " I have fought a good fight, I have finished my 
course, I have kept the faith ; henceforth there is laid up for me a crown 
of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at 
that day : and not to me only, but unto all them also that love his ap- 
pearing." 

t Rev. xxi. 21. 

X Col. iii. 3. " For ye are dead, and your life is hid (kept in perfect 
security) with Christ in God." 



THE FAREWELL OF REPENTANCE. 85 

My crown, henceforth laid up for me 
Until that day of dread. 

No finite arm 
My crown can harm ; 
Oh, when that judgment day shall come, 
The worlds all wrapt in shrouding gloom, 
While sinners wail their woful doom, 
My soul shall rest in heaven, my home ; 
My crown I see ! 

Once from my Heavenly King 
I strayed in sin and shame, 
A weary, worn, and wretched thing,* 
Till kind Repentance came. 

Through dreary years, 
He saw my tears. 
And drew me, with love's magic cord,| 
Back to my gracious King adored ; 
Oh ! sad indeed the parting word. 
Save to be ever with the Lord, J 

My Heavenly King ! 

"But ah! beloved friend. 

Thy memory I will keep ; 
Thou 'st blessed me to my journey's end. 
And my sad heart will weep, 

* "A wandering, weary, worn, and wretched thing, 
Scorched, and desolate, and blasted soul, 
A gloomy wilderness of dying thought," — Pollok. 
t Hosea xi. 6. . t 1 Thess. iv. 17. 

8 



86 THE FAREWELL OF REPENTANCE. 

Repentance dear, 
One parting tear ; 

These everlasting portals shine, 

With radiant beauty all divine ; 

Yet here, beloved companion mine, 

This token of my love is thine ; 

Farewell, my friend ! 

^^ Is it a last farewell ? 
Eternal leave I take ? 
My yearning love this tear will tell, 
'T is offered for thy sake ; 

Friend of my heart. 
Here we must part ! 
I thought that thou from God wert given,* 
An angel watch, where guilt has striven, 
To soothe the anguished spirit riven ; 
Wilt thou not ever enter heaven ? 

Sweet friend, farewell ! " 

* * * # * 

Jerusalem, the Bride, 

The holy city, shone, 
In heavenly light's expansive tide. 
Like, precious jasper stone ; "j' 

An angel guard 
Held watch and ward 
At twelve high gates, twelve pearls in all ; J 
Garnished with precious stones, and tall, 

* 2 Tim. ii. 23. t Rev. xxi. O-IL t Rev. xxi. 12, 21. 



THE FAREWELL OF REPEINTAINCE. 87 

On twelve foundations stood the wall. 



Whose names the twelve Apostles call.* 
The holy Bride ! 

God and the Lamb its light,! 

Effulgent, clear, serene ! 
Dimmed not by storm nor darksome night, J 
That city's crystal sheen ! 

Nor beam nor ray, 
But boundless day. 
Diffusive, filled the hallowed air, 
And filled the crystal waters fair ; § 
The gates ne'er shut to saint nor prayer, || 
Earth's kings and nations ransomed share TF 
That living light. 

I saw no temple there. 

No sun, nor moon, nor star ; 
God and the Lamb its temple were. 
Their glory gleamed afar ; ** 

And, 'mid the place. 
Their throne of grace, tt 
Ineffable, majestic, grand, 
Whence flowed adown, o'er diamond sand, JJ 
The stream of life ; on either hand 
The tree of life embowered the land ; §§ 

The saved walked there ! |||i 

* Rev. xxi. 14. t Rev. xxi. 23. X Rev. xxi. 25. $ Rev. xxii. 1. 
II Rev. xxi. 25. H Rev. xxi. 24. ** Rev. xxi. 22, 23. 

tt Rev. xxii. 3. " Tlie throne of the heavenly grace." — Common Prayer. 
Heb. iv. 16. 
i± Rev. xxii, 1. §§ Rev. xxii. 2. 1| || Rev. xxi. 24. 



88 THE FAREWELL OF REPENTANCE. 

The city of my God ! 

The new Jerusalem ! ^ 
Along its golden street I trod, t 
And wore my diadem, 

With jewelled lyre 
And white attire ; 
And near me walked a holy one ; 
Gems sparkled from his virgin zone ; J 
He led me to the ancient throne, 
And taught my praise with seraph tone, 
Glory to God ! 



a 



Far from these scenes must thou. 

My friend, for ever stay? 
Here by this dazzling throne I bow. 
And thou art far away ! 

Without yon gates 
Repentance waits ! 
Thou didst reprove me when I strayed. 
And warned me trembling and afraid, 
And, kneeling by me when I prayed, 
Taught me my precious ransom paid ! 
Oh, where art thou ? " 



Then, well-remembered, smiled. 
And spake that seraph guide, 
" God sent Repentance to his child, 
Love's voice is by thy side ; 

That garb of woe. 
Which mourners know, § 

* Rev. xxi. 2. t Rev. xxi. 21. t Rev. xv. G. § Job xlii. 6. 



THE FAREWELL OF REPEINTAINCE. 89 

Did angels at yon gates remove,* 
And gave these robes with gems inwove ; — 
Thy friend below still lives with thee above, 
Repentance on the earth in heaven is Love, 
Thy seraph guide." 

O sinner ! now repent, 

Turn from thy hateful sin ; — 
Woe, woe will smite the impenitent : 
This very day begin ; — 

Probation wastes, 
The judgment hastes ; 
If thou wouldst know Love's rapturous power, 
Give God thy heart, Love's choicest dower; — 
If thou wouldst smile in death's dim hour. 
Or when dread glooms of judgment lower. 
Sinner, repent ! 

^ Rev. xxi. 27. 



8* 



90 
THE WIDOW. 

"Plead for the widow." — Isaiah, i, 17. 

I VENERATE the widow, when her head 

Is white with years and sorrow for the dead ; 

Her God has called himself the widow's friend, * 

Her God is mine, — before his throne I bend. 

The widow ! holy name ! one loved of God, 

Loved most when most she weeps beneath his rod ! 

The widow ! Jesus loved her, raised her son j 

The same was erst by old Elijah done. 

The widow ! holiest name ! her name, who bare 

" The word made flesh," and gave God's child her 

care ! | 
Close by his cross, the virgin-mother stood. 
Whence streamed her Son and Saviour's precious 

blood ; 
He felt the world's sin press his burdened head, J 
Yet saw the tears the aged widow shed : 
"Woman, behold thy son," his mother heard; 
"Behold thy mother," was his parting word; 
From that hour that disciple bade her come, 
And dwell with him, her son, in his own home. § 



* Exod. xxii. 22. Deut. x. 18. 

t St. John's Gospel, i. 14. Acts iv. 27. t Levit. xvi. 21. 2 Cor. v. 21. 

§ St. John's Gospel, xix. 25-27. ''Now there stood by the cross of 
Jesus, his mother, and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Cleophas, and 
Mary Magdalene. When Jesus, therefore, saw his mother, and the dis- 
ciple standing by, whom he loved, he sailh unto his mother; Woman, behold 



SONNET. 91 

O Lord ! I love the widow for thy sake ! 
To thine own love my widowed mother take ! 



SONNET. 



Night's stillness hangs around ; above, 
The moon and starry multitude, 
Sparkling on mountain, wave, and wood, 

In paths of brilliant beauty move, 
Emblems of peace and purity, 
Far o'er the wild, polluted sea 
Of mortal sin and misery : — 

In this calm hour I humbly send 
My anxious thoughts to search the still 
And hidden workings of my will ; 

Before God's piercing eye I bend. 
To note my secret sins ; and try 
My faith in Him, who left his high 
And holy heaven for me to die. 



thy son ! Then sailh he to the disciple, Behold thy mother ! And from 
that hour that disciple took her unto his own home." 



92 



THE UNIVERSAL SYMPATHY. 

LINES ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 

"The very hairs of your head are all numbered." ~ St. Matt. x. 30. 

" Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones ; for I say unto you, 
that, in heaven, their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is 
in heaven." — Matt, xviii. 10. 

" Are they not all ministering spirits sent forth to minister to them who shall 
be heirs of salvation? " — Heb. i. 14. 

"He is able to succour them that are tempted." — Heb. ii. 18. 

" We are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses." — Heb. xii. ]. 



PART I. 

I SLEPT by the sound of streams, 
I drank of the dew of dreams. 

Far, on the stretching sand, 

Before a wood, 
That decked a little ocean isle. 
From all the world full many a mile, 

Methought I stood, 
Beside that distant strand. 

This shining sea ! 
Its waves agree 
To mock at me, 
They play so free, 
Then flashing flee 
To hide their glee. 



THE UNIVERSAL SYMPATHY. 93 

I envy thee, 
Thou shining sea ! 

Who, who would rear his narrow cot, 
Above some still and lonely spot, 
With none to bless his life, 

Or whom his life may bless, 
With brooding misery rife. 
Where words of those he loves may never reach his 

ear, 
Where human sympathies his heart may never cheer ? 

No more, no more 
Shall I pass o'er 
These waves, that pour 
Their billowy store 
Along the shore. 
I hear the roar 
Of surges hoar, 
"No more, no more." 

Who, who would choose his woful lot 
Within some dark and dismal grot. 
Cast off from all his kind, 

A cold and passionless 
And solitary mind. 
Unfeeling, selfish, stern, without hope, without fear, 
A stranger from his race, a man without a tear ? 

Alone, alone. 

Wide waters bind 
Me in their zone ; 



94 THE UNIVERSAL SYMPATHY. 

In mournful tone 
Low wails the wind, 
" Alone, alone." 



PART II. 



Midnight had come in sable storm and gloom ; 
Moveless I stood spell-bound in that drear doom. 

I looked upon the lonely flood, 

So vastly spread, 
I looked upon the lonely wood. 

So darkly dread. 
With throbbing heart and burning eye. 

And felt the sharp distress. 
The pang and sickening agony. 

Of utter loneliness. 
I gazed ; and now a sound, 

A solemn^ slow, unearthly air. 
Arose, and shed around 

Its strain of heavenly music there. 

Oh Music ! power mysterious ! 
Whence are thy measures moving thus ? 
Streams from the spirit-sea of heaven ; 
Winds from its spirit-breezes driven ; 
Now flowing in their course so mildly ; 
Now blowing in their force so wildly ? 



THE UNIVERSAL SYMPATHY. 95 

That heavenly strain ! 

While lightnings sweep 
The lurid sky, 

And thunders leap 

From steep to steep, 

Where tempests heap 
The waves on high, 
It casts its chain 
Upon the main : — 

The waters sleep. 

Oh Music ! thou, with soothing balm. 
The bursting, aching heart canst calm ; 
Thy power the wildest grief can spell, 
As drops of oil wild waters quell ; 
And fiercest passions of the soul 
Are subject to thy mild control. 

That heavenly strain ! 

Their silent sleep 

The waters keep. 

And from the deep 

Now softly creep 
Those sounds again, — 
As summer rain. 
In sportive vein, 
Steals o'er the plain. 
When the gay swain 

Will harvests reap 
Of golden grain ; 

The isle-woods weep. 

They sigh, they sleep. 



96 THE UNIVERSAL SYMPATHY. 

Oh Music ! from life's cup of pain 

Its dregs of misery thou canst drain ; 

Thine influence, sacred and sublime, 

Sheds heaven's own peace through anxious time ; 

Thrice wretched they, who may not know 

Thy joyous rest, thy blissful glow ! 

That heavenly strain ! 
It binds the isle. 
It binds the sea, 
To slumber lain. 
In one sweet smile. 
With its strong wile 
Of harmony. 

Oh Music ; thy own home is far — 

On high beyond the farthest star ; 

Where heaven's grand temple rears its dome, 

Thou hast in crystal courts thy home ; 

Where none but angel hosts have trod. 

Thou tun'st their harps to worship God ! 

That heavenly strain ! 
It seemed to fill 
The wind so bland, 

The wave so still. 
The woody land ; — 
As if some unseen band, 
Along their numerous train 
Of countless lyres, 
Had swept, with seraph hand, 



THE UNIVERSAL SYMPATHY. 97 

From golden wires, 
Their chords of richest melody, 
Round all the blue depths of the bending sky. 

Oh Music ! by the holiest shrine 

Thou serv'st, where Godhead's glories shine ! 

Yet, sometimes, straying symphonies. 

Faint echoes from the upper skies, 

A straggling note, a broken trill, 

We catch, and feel the unwonted thrill. 

That heavenly strain ! that heavenly strain ! 

It passed upon my heated brain. 

Like some cool breeze of summer, blown 

From beds where perfume-flowers are strown, 

So blissful swelled its angel tone ; 

And strange and holy joys flowed fast. 

And freshening thoughts with sudden start, 
Like springing memories of the past. 

From secret fountains of the heart. 

Oh Music ! mortals may not bear 
The sounds which holy spirits hear ; 
To this low world they may not bring 
The choral psalm they ever sing : — 
Yet earthly music is from heaven, 
A type of love to mortals given. 



Ceased the unearthly air ; — 
And then a low and liquid voice, 
9 



98 THE UNIVERSAL SYMPATHY. 

Like that of gentle woman, brake, 
Like woman's voice in prayer, 
Upon the stillness there ; 

And these the precious words it spake, 
" Mortal, no more alone, rejoice. 
Friends bid thee not despair." 

And then a sudden radiance rose. 

And spread around its dazzling charm, 

And splendor tinged the height. 
And poured upon my heart its warm 
And thrilling beams of light, — 
More brilliant than the brilliant close 
Of some long sunny summer day, 
Yet softer than its last soft ray. 

And then there came a blessed form. 
Forth to my ravished sight, 
Of high, immortal grace and mien, — 
Like that by woman's beauty worn 

In her first pride of life and love. 
Or that by sainted woman borne 
In fadeless purity above, — 
Amid the wonder of the scene. 
From out that radiance bright. 
And smiled ; — as sunrise on the storm 

Steeps the black clouds with glorious dyes. 
It turned my woes to ecstasies ; — 
And on her murmuring harp-strings rang 
Low tender notes and clear, 
And to my raptured ear 
Celestial comfort sweetly sang. 



THE UNIVERSAL SYMPATHY. 99 

Alone ! oh no ! thou 'rt not alone ; 
The chain, that passes from God's throne, 
Through the broad universe extends, 
And his entire creation blends. 
And binds in one great commonweal 
Of minds that think and hearts that feel. 
Held by the unbroken sympathy. 
None to himself may live, none die ; 
Thy sorrows other bosoms shake. 
Thy joys responsive joys awake. 
Oh no ! thou 'rt not alone, for now 
What hosts of mercy round thee bow ! 
All ministering spirits they. 
For ever waiting to obey. 
Sent from thy Father's home of day. 
Thy hopes to raise, thy faith to stay ! " 

Her harp the angel hushed. 
And hushed her song ; — 
And once again, 
From unseen fingers rushed 
Distinct and long, 
That heavenly strain, 
Then breathed itself upon the breeze away. 



PART III. 



I slept by the sound of streams, 
I drank of the dew of dreams ; 



IQO THE UNIVERSAL SYMPATHY. 

But the streams are dead, 

And my dreams are fled ; 

Then listen, bright girl, I '11 teach thy youth 

A simple lesson of sober truth. 

The leaf, which autumn blasts have torn 

So roughly from the tree. 
Will wither, and will die, forlorn, 

In need of sympathy. 

The rose, when broken from the vine, 
Without its fragrant bowers. 

Will sicken, droop, and dying pine 
For its loved sister-flowers. 

The brook, that carols blithe and free, 

And dances on its course, 
Will fail and sink upon the lea, 

If parted from its source. 

The bird, that warbles all his age, 

From early morn till late. 
Will moan and perish in the cage, 

Far from his chosen mate. 

So hearts, which woe may rudely wring 
From hearts for which they sigh. 

Where all their fond affections cling, 
Will break, and bleed, and die. 

God's creatures live to sympathize, 
One social tide bears all ; 



THE UNIVERSAL SYMPATHY. 101 

With every joy that tide will rise, 
With every sorrow fall. 

And thou, dear child, just stepping in the road. 

Which all must tread, urged on by time's keen goad. 

Thou too mayst suffer the intense desire. 

Which, unappeased, will scorch the soul like fire, 

The yearning spirit's want, which strives to find. 

Where to repose, some sympathizing mind. 

By nature's deathless law, thou too mayst know, 

How bitter are the lonely tears, which flow. 

When the heart stricken looks for some to lend 

Its kindly love, bat seeks in vain a friend. 

All hearts were made to each reciprocal. 

All give their love, each needs the love of all : 

The things which most we need, we value best. 

And man, so weak, needs most a place of rest, 

And counts his brother's love of chiefest worth. 

Because in this he rests alone on earth ; 

Thus sympathy surrounds and ties all hearts. 

And highest happiness to each imparts. 

Then think, my friend, if death thy home shall smite, 

Or sickness seize thee, or disaster blight. 

That souls, which love thee here, shall still attend, 

And ministering spirits God will send. 

To soothe life's anxious journey to its end, 

And o'er thy dying pillow smiling bend. 

Rest in the Son of God, 
High sympathy's exhaustless fount ; ^ 

iHeb. ii. 9 — 18. Heb.iv. 1,9. 

9# 



1025 THE UNIVERSAL SYMPATHY. 

He '11 shield thee in affliction's storm ; 2 
And thou shalt wear an angel's form, ^ 
And stand on heavenly Zion's mount, "* 
With jewelled sandals shod, ^ 
Clothed with white robes, and wave thj palm, ^ 
And celebrate the holy arm, '^ 

By which thy victory 's won, ^ 
And dwell for ever in God's sight, ^ 
And sound thy golden harp, with harpers harping 

loud, 10 
In new Jerusalem, where floats no darkening cloud,^^ 
Where shines no moon nor sun, ^^ 
And where shall never more be night, '^ 
And where the Almighty's glory and the Lamb are 
its eternal light ! i^ 



APOSTROPHE TO MUSIC. 

Oh Music ! thou, with constant zeal, 
Our friend in woe, our friend in weal ; 
Our guest sent down from heaven to cheer 
This lonely earth so chill and drear ; 
Thanks for the spirit of thine hour ! 
I love thine all-controlling power ! 

2 Isaiah xli. 10. xliii. 1, 2. Heb. xiii. 5, 6. 3 1 Cor. xv. 42 — 44, 49, 53. 
^Rev. xiv. 1. 5 Isaiah Ixi. 10. ^ Rev. vii. 9. ^ Luke i. 51. spsalm xcviii. 
1. 1 Cor. XV. 57. ^ Rev. xiv. 5. xxii. 4. 10 Rev. xiv. 2, 3. " Rev. xxi. 2, 
10. 11. 12 Rev. xxi. 23. i3Rev. xxii. 5. i4Rev. xxi. 23. 



103 



MUSIC. 



"All thy works shall praise thee, oh Lord, 
And thy saints shall bless thee." 

Ps. cxlv. 10. 



There 's music in the sullen roar 
Of wild waves dashing on the shore ; 
There 's music in the peaceful sleep 
Of ocean's waters calm and deep. 

There's music in the angry cry 
Of tempests struggling through the sky ; 
There 's music in the plaintive wail 
Of spirits on the summer gale. 

There 's music in the flashings fast 
Of lightnings battling on the blast ; 
There 's music in the fearful rest 
Of thunders on the mountain's crest. 

There 's music in the mingled light 
Of bursting meteors blazing bright ; 
There's music in the lofty lay 
Of worlds that hold their ceaseless way. 

There 's music in the song of love 
Of young birds warbling in the grove ; 
There 's music in the holy care 
Of guardian angels pure and fair. 



104 A SENTIMENTAL SONNET. 

In music each created thing 
The honors of its God doth sing ; 
The courts of heaven with music ring, 
^^ All glory to the Eternal King ! " 



A SENTIMENTAL SONNET. 

No HOME ! no home ! Would I might weep ! 

But loneliness refuses tears, 

It burns upon the brain and sears : — 
Now untold sorrows saddening steep 
My soul ; — heavy and fast they come ! 

Oh that I had a friend, — one friend, — 

On whom to rest, — and who would tend, 
Within his heart, my friendship's home. 

The gift of friendship safe, — and keep. 
With pure and pious care, the love, 

Which I would give, — and, with a deep 
And sacred sympathy, approve 

The struggling thoughts my heart would lend ! 

No home ! Oh that I had a friend ! 



105 



THE CHRISTIAN PILGRIM'S PASS- WORD.* 



" For we aro strangers before thee, and sojourners, as were all our fathers." 
— 1 Chron. xxix. 15. 

"There remaineth therefore a rest for the people of God." — Heb. iv. 9. 

"These ail confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth. 
They desire a better country, that is, an heavenly." — Heb. xi. 13, 16. 

"For here have we no continuing city, but we seek one to come." — Heb. 
xiii. 14. 

" Seek ye the Lord, while he may bo found ; call ye upon him, while he is 
near." — Isa. Iv. 6. 



A Christian pilgrim held his lonely way, 
His cheeks were thin and pale, his locks were gray ; 
Along the busy world he moved unknown, 
Amid the hurrying crowd he moved alone, 
And none, of all that gay and careless throng. 
Marked the poor pilgrim as he went along. 
With lingering step he walked, and thoughtful seemed, 
And melting pity from his clear eye beamed. 
And ever and anon the old man meek 
Would pause with solemn air, as if to speak. 
And point with outstretched arm towards the sky. 
And talk of God — the soul — eternity, — 
Strange jargon-speech, and stranger dogmas these, — 
While onward cheered those multitudes at ease. 
Or, if they gazed a moment, turned away. 
Nor cared they what the old man sought to say ; 



* Lines addressed to a young friend. Their simplicity and irregular 
measure will be pardoned, as appropriate to their occasion. 



106 THE CHRISTIAN PILGRIM'S PASS-WORD. 

Till, from a merry-hearted group that passed, 

A gentle girl, of all the group the last, 

To where the pilgrim bent his steps, drew near, 

And marked his noble brow and eye so clear, — 

The outward emblems, to the senses brought, 

Of pure emotion and of lofty thought, — 

And pitied him so dignified and mild. 

And on the way-worn traveller kindly smiled. 

Thus always, when he met that pageant gay. 

The same sweet smile would bless him, day by day. 

Such love unwonted touched the old man's heart. 

While still he lingered near them, loth to part ; 

And often, when he watched that child so fair. 

He offered up his silent, anxious prayer. 

That God would lead her to the Saviour's fold. 

And save her with his chosen ones enrolled ; 

And sometimes he would murmur, musingly. 

This burden of his strange soliloquy. 

" Sorrow intense. 

With pleasure blending, 
A mystic sense. 

Is ever bending. 
With magic power, 
Upon its flight. 
The passing hour. 

Like maiden tending. 
Within her bower. 
Some feeble flower. 

Or vine-stem slight. 



THE CHRISTIAN PILGRIM'S PASS- WORD. 107 

Why should such sadness creep 
E'en through my dreamy sleep ? 
Why should such gladness light 
My visions of the night ? 
Sadness and gladness twine 
Around that form of thine ; 
And grief and joy combine 
Within this heart of mine." 

He thought of worldly hopes long perished all, 
Of loved ones mouldered 'neath the mouldered pall, 
Of cherished beauty buried, friendships fled. 
Once all his own, now gathered with the dead ; 
Heart-hallowed thoughts, reviving fresh and fast. 
Pleasant and mournful memories of the past, * 
And thus, in answer to himself, unheard, 
Pursued his earnest, meditative word. 

" Thou canst not tell, gay child ; 
Thy spirit mild 
Knows not the wild 
And wayward workings of the heart, 
When quickly called to part 
With those whose love, 
To scenes above. 
Life 's weary way beguiled ; 
Round thee the Syren world hath smiled ; 
Thou hast not felt the smart. 



Ossian. 



108 THE CHRISTIAN PILGRIM'S PASS- WORD. 

The dreadful start, 

The sudden dart, 
Of piercing anguish rudely driven, 
When hopes are rent, and hearts are riven ! " 

Nor were his thoughts alone of these, the lost ; 
He would not call them back, to have them tossed 
Upon the surge and 'mid the woes of time ; 
They rested evermore in heaven's soft clime. 
He thought of her, the living, tempted now, 
And feared, lest sin should write upon her brow 
Its lines of guilt and wretchedness and want. 
He longed, he hoped, that her young heart might 

pant 
For bliss immortal in the Holy Land, 
For life and blessedness at God's right hand, 
And constantly occasion sacred sought 
To teach her heart the wisdom Jesus taught ; 
Till, taking license from her smiling face, 
He thus accosted her with courteous grace. 

" Now, gentle girl, 

I gladly greet thee, 
While in this weary world I roam ; 
Thou gentle girl, 
I sadly meet thee. 
Still stranger from my distant home." 

" I thank thee, father, for thy greeting kind," 
The gentle girl replied, with mien refined. 



THE CHRISTIAN PILGRIIVrS PASS- WORD. 109 



^' But why sojournest thou a stranger here ? 
Hast thou no friend to bid thee to his cheer ? 
What leads thee, father, in our land to roam, 
Away from home ? Where is thy distant home ? " 

" My home ! " the pilgrim said, " I have no home 
on earth ; — 
Nor would I rest me here, — earth cannot rest the 
soul. 
Long since, an orphan boy, I left the happy hearth. 
Where, 'mid parental cares, my childhood smoothly 
stole ; — 
Then joyed and mourned, where smiled my manhood's 
hours, and died. 
My home ! God grant me grace to gain the pil- 
grim's goal. 
That 's fixed in holy heaven. I have no home beside. 
The few and fleeting joys are gone, which earth 
can dole. 
My home ! ' a rest remains ' for those whom God hath 

tried. 
My home is in the dwelling of ^ the Spirit and the 
Bride.' " 

" But, father," asked the reverent girl again, 
" Why does my laughing presence give thee pain .'' 
Thou scannest sorrows in my coming years ; 
Father, my heart grows weak with trembling fears. 
Hast thou the secrets of futurity ? 
^ I sadly meet thee,' was thy speech to me." 



10 



110 THE CHRISTIAN PILGRIM'S PASS-WORD. 

The old man's earnest hope was now fulfilled, 
And he might teach the Gospel truths he willed ; 
To point her to the Christ no longer he deferred, 
And thus he spake the Christian pilgrim's passing-word. 

" I sadly meet thee, gentle girl ! 
And why ? Thus strangely too I always meet. 
So sad, the young and fairest ones, whose sweet 

And soft tones sing, through lips of pearl. 
My blessed welcome. Yet I gladly greet 

Their joyous presence and their smile so bright. 
Till testy Time, who tarries not, too fleet. 

Speeds my dull step, and drives me from their sight. 

Thee thus I meet : how richly curl 
Those raven ringlets on the ivory brow, — 
The dimpled, blushing cheeks, — the neck of snow ! 
But soon will fade and fall this sprightly show." 

He paused, — his mind a moment absent strayed. 
To abstract thought, from his address, betrayed. 

^^ On this new blossom comes the mortal blight ? 
Shall death, with iron hand, this beauty smite ? 
Within its winding folds, so long and white. 

Shall the starched shroud this beauty furl ? 
But not for aye : — a morn, with heavenly might. 
Will break in glory on the grave's long night. 
And shed o'er beauty its celestial light. 
I love to gaze upon that lucid glow 
Of life and loveliness, though secret flow 
The tears of sadness sometimes, still and slow." 



THE CHRISTIAN PILGRIM'S PASS-WORD. Ill 

His heart with strengthening interest imbued, 
With feeling tone and grave impressive mood, 
The passing-word the old man now renewed, 
And thus his serious counsel straight pursued. 

" I sadly meet thee, gentle girl ! 
For old Experience murmurs in my ear, 
From the 'deep past' his whisper-words I hear. 

' Long while I watched the wanton whirl. 
Where wastes this wicked world its priceless wealth 
Of soul and precious thought, till my heart's health 

Departed, and the idle twirl 
Of vanities made dizzy all my brain : 
I saw that men immortal strove to train 
Their immortality to time in vain ; 

And deathless spirits sought to hurl 
Their costly gifts of God in death's dark wave. 
And quench the spark of heaven within the grave.' 

" And I have feared, lest the vile 

And haggard Earth should lay her cold 
And withered hand, in murders bold. 
Upon thy soul, its beauty to defile. 
I tremble, lest her touch embase 

Thy spirit, stainless now and pure. 
If not from human guilt, from guile. 
And leave upon its clear, white face 

The dull, dark stain of dust, and lure 
Thy heart from holiness to run the race 
For mockeries where God sheds not his grace. 
I shudder, lest the Earth shall press her cruel claim. 
For, though so spotless now, thou art of mortal name ; 



112 THE CHRISTIAN PILGRIM'S PASS-WORD. 

And purest incense throws its flame 
From bloodiest shrines ; and saddest shame 
Wails in the wild harp's softest sound ; 
And greenest, freshest leaves surround 
The place where gloomy graves are found. 
As loveliest buds are culled to deck the tomb, 
So for the purest hearts Earth seeks her heaviest doom. 
Thus am I sad : — but He, who gave thee life, 
Arms thee to brave the temptress in successful strife ; 
Earth plots thy ruin, for this she spreads her toils, 
But God, for those who love him, Earth's temptation 

foils ; 
Jesus was sinless in a world of sin, 
Now low before his throne bend burning seraphin ; 
Like Him, reject its guilt, and dare its gloom. 
Thy fadeless victor-wreath and crown in blissful heav- 
en shall bloom." 

"Father," the child replied, " I too seek heaven, 
I wish the victor-wreath to Christians given ; 
Point me their path, who for that crown have striven." 

Her firm resolve well-pleased he heard her tell. 
To sojourn on the earth, in heaven to dwell, 
Then happy bade the Christian child farewell. 

" Now, gentle girl ! 

Why sadly meet thee ? 
Soon to our Father's house we 'II come ; 
Thou gentle girl, 
I gladly greet thee. 



THE CHRISTIAN PILGRIM'S PASS-WORD. 113 

Soon we shall reach our distant home. 
Our Saviour leads the way, 
And we must pray, 
And never stay, 
Until we see the golden dome. 
Which shines in endless day, 
And join the lay. 
Which angels pay. 
No more from heaven to stray. 
Nor in this weary world to roam. 
Seek, then, thy Saviour, while he may be found. 
Let thy young heart in his pure love abound ; 
He '11 save thee from the grasp of sin, and earth's 

death-whirl. 
And God will give thee grace and glory, gentle girl." 



10* 



114 



SONNET. 

My weary spirit, looking hence 
Up to the empyrean of the blest, 
God's heaven of sinless, holy rest, 

Abjures the vanities of sense ; 

I '11 fight the fight of faith, and wake, 
Revived, by thine omnipotence. 
Oh Christ, my strength and confidence. 

From death, the crown of life to take ; 
To glorious company of saint 
And angel I press on, nor faint. 
To taste the joys time cannot taint ; 
And '' glorying only in thy cross," 
For thee the fiend's temptations toss 
Aside, and ^' count all things but loss." 



115 



THE WIDOW'S SON* 

"Now when he came nigh to the gate of the city, behold, there was a dead 
man carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow : and much 
people of the city was with her. And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion 
on her, and said unto her, weep not." — St. Luke, vii. 12, 13. 

The mother looked in vain 

For every coming morrow ; 
Her son had sailed from far New-Spain ; 

She knew not yet her sorrow. 

Long days, that lingered on, 

To many weeks amounted. 
No tidings from her only son ! 

The passing hours she counted. 

Perhaps he pined away, 

On desert head-land stranded ; 
Perhaps beneath the waves he lay, 

With coral sea-shroud banded. 

Sure, 't is but vain to strive. 

When fears within are centred. 
But now good news ! her hopes revive ; 

The tardy ship has entered. 

Quick is the news-list read ; 
No Thomas there is noted. 

^ Lines sug-gested by the death of Thomas I m, the only child of 

his widowed mother, on his passage from Mexico to New York, 



116 THE WIDOW'S SON. 

Alas ! alas ! he must be dead, 
On whom that widow doted ! 

The black-sealed letter soon 

The dreadful truth attested ; 
He died in young life's brightest noon. 

In ocean's caves he rested. 

One joy all griefs permit, 

One comfort still remaining ; 
His clothes, which once he wore, she '11 sit 

And tend, while life is waning. 

Oh mournful, mournful tale ! 

That widow's bitter anguish ! 
Words die unheard, our thoughts all fail. 

Long will that lone heart languish ! 

He was her darling child ; 

She never nursed another : — 
His heart so soft ! his voice so mild ! 

He dearly loved his mother ! 

Now tell me, ye that feel 

This widow's lonely sadness. 
Can earth her wounded spirit heal ? 

Earth can yield nought but madness. 

Poor mother ! pray to God, 

Go to thy Saviour often ; 
This woful world thy Saviour trod, 

Thy sorrows He will soften. 



117 



THE MANIAC MAID. 



" Trust in the Lord with all thy heart ; and lean not to thine own understand- 
ing." Prov. iii. 5. 

" My son, despise not the chastening of the Lord 5 neither be weary of his 
correction." — Prot. iii. 11. 



A MANIAC maiden sought the strand : — • 

Her lover had left for a foreign land ; 

His country's high call had challenged her claim, 

And he went to fight for his country's fame. 

But woe to his hopes ! and woe to his pride ! 

He fell where gallant foemen died. 

The storm was out ; — the sea dashed high ; — 
The blackened tempest drove along the sky ; 
But she tarried not for the sea-bird's scream, 
And she hurried on by the lightning's gleam ; 
And she thought of her lover's bloody grave, 
And plunged her in the foaming wave. 

The storm was hushed ; — the morn was clear ; — 
But the maid was gone from her parents' cheer : 
They searched on the hill, they sought on the shore, 
But the maid was lost ; — they saw her no more ; 
They heard not her grief, they knew not her wrong ; 
For the wild winds howled her requiem song. 



118 



DIES IRiE.* 



Dies irse, dies ilia 
Solvet sasclum in favilla, 
Teste David cum Sibylla, t 



* " A Latin hymn describing tlie final judgment of the world. It is as- 
cribed to Thomas de Caelano, a Minorite, who lived in the thirteenth centu- 
ry. It is a beautiful poem, belonging to those early Christian songs, which 
combine the smoothness of rhyme \\'ith the gravity of Latin verse. This 
powerful poem makes a part of the Requiem (the Mass for the souls of the 
dead) 3 and it is one of the highest and most difficult tasks for the com- 
poser to compose music adapted to the awful solemnity of the subject." 
American Encyclopaedia. 

We have adjoined to the hymn a literal translation of it. It is to be 
observed that no translation from a dead into a vernacular language can 
equal the original, since, in the vernacular, every word presents at once a 
single and definite meaning, while in the reading of a dead language im- 
agination is allowed more liberty 5 and, besides, the words of a dead lan- 
guage are free from those detractive associations oi coinmomiess or famili- 
arity, which appertain to many of even those words in a vernacular, which 
are employed in poetical composition. The Latin language, moreover, 
from its etymology, is altogether superior to our own, in its facilities for 
the composition of solemn and stately rhythm. 

t There is doubt whether this line was in the original poem ; but, being 
~ ancient, and long in use, it is retained by the Roman Catholic Church in 
the hymn as used in the Mass for the dead. It is difficult to determine 
what is the exact meaning of the line. By " David " may be intended 
Jesus Christ, and the phrase " cum Sibylla " may imply only the ab- 
solute certainty of his testimony. Instances of a similar sense of these 
terms may be found. If by "David" a reference is made to the 
Psalms, the passage is probably Psalm cii. 23, 26 j and by " the Sibyl " 
would be understood some passage well known at the time, when this 
hymn was composed, in one of the Sibylline books so numerous in the 
early periods of Christianity. But the interpretation, which has seemed 
most plausible and satisfactory, is, that the word '' Sibyl " is used 



119 



THE DAY OF WRATH.* 

The day of wrath, that unknown day, I 
Will worlds in ashes melt away ; 
So David and the Sibyl say. 

generically or abstractly, as meaning the Sibyls, — all those books among 
the heathen or gentile nations, which were supposed to convey a true 
knowledge of futurity ; and that the term " David " is used in a similar 
sense, as the whole Christian or Divine Revelation. So that the mean- 
ing will be,— All true prophetical records, in the Church and among pa- 
gans, testify unanimously, that this world will be destroyed, and man be 
judged. In this sense the line conveys a mighty argument, and brings 
" the day of wrath " before our notice as a subject of serious truth and 
most solemn interest. 

*"HYMN TO THE DEAD. 

" That day of wrath, that dreadful day, 
When heaven and earth shall pass away. 
What power shall be the sinner's stay ? 
How shall he meet that dreadful day ? 

When, shrivelling like a parched scroll. 
The flaming heavens together roll j 
When louder yet, and yet more dread, 
Swells the high trump that wakes the dead ! 

Oh ! on that day, that wrathful day. 
When man to judgment wakes from clay, 
Be Thou the trembling sinner's stay, 
Though heaven and earth shall pass away ! " 

Lay of the Last Minstrel. Canto vi. 

t St. Matt. xxiv. 36. " But of that day and hour knoiveth no man, 
no, not the angels of heaven, but my Father only." 



120 JI^IES IRJE. 

Quantus tremor est futurus, 
Quando Judex est venturus, 
Cuncta stricte discussurus ! * 

Tuba, mirum spargens sonum 
Per sepulchra regionum, 
Coget omnes ante thronum. 

Mors stupebit et natura, 
Cum resurget creatura, 
Judicanti responsura. 

Liber scriptus proferetur, t 
In quo totum continetur 
Unde mundus judicetur. 

Judex ergo cum sedebit, 
Quidquid latet apparebit, 
Nil inultum remanebit. 

Quid sum miser tunc dicturus ? 
Quem patronum rogaturus, 
Cum vix Justus sit securus ? J 



* Heb. xii. 12. " Yet once more I shake not the earth only, but also 
heaven." Hag. ii. 6. 

+ " And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God 3 and the 
books were opened 3 and another book was opened, which is the book 
of life ; and the dead were judged out of those things which were writ- 
ten in the books. — Rev. xx. 12. 

1 1 Pet. iv. 18. " If the righteous scarcely be saved, where shall the 
ungodly and the sinner appear ? " 



THE DAY OF WRATH. 121 

How will the universe then quake, 
When comes the Judge account to take, 
Earth, heaven, all things, so strict to shake ! 

The trumpet spreads its awful tone 
Deep through the tombs of every zone. 
And gathers all before the throne. * 

Death will be dumb, and nature fear, 
When raised the creature shall appear. 
To answer to the Judge severe. 

The book full-written will be spread. 
Which holds all thought, or done, or said. 
To judge the world, both quick and dead, f 

The Judge will sit, and man arraign, 
Each hidden thing he will explain. 
No sin shall unavenged remain. J 

What shall I, wretched man, then plead ? 

What patron ask to intercede. 

When scarce the righteous win their meed } 



* Or : Scatters the trump its awful sound, 

Through earth's dark graves it heaves the ground, 
And summons all the throne around. 

t 2 Tim. iv. 1. " The Lord Jesus Christ shall judge the quick 
and the dead at his appearing and his kingdom," &c. See also the 
Apostles' Creed. 

t Matt. XXV. 31-46. 

11 



122 DIES IRJE. 



Rex tremendge majestatisj 
Qui salvandos salvas gratis, 
Salva me, fons pietatis, 

Recordare, Jesu pie, 
Quod sum causa tuse viae, 
Ne me perdas ilia die. 

Quserens me, sedisti lassus, * 
Redemisti crucem passus, 
Tantus labor non sit cassus. 

Juste Judex ultionis, 
Donum fac remissionis. 
Ante diem rationis. 

Ingemisco tanquam reus, 
Culpa rubet vultus meus ; 
Supplicanti parce, Deus ! 

Qui Mariam absolvisti, 
Et latronem exaudisti, 
Mihi quoque spem dedisti. 

Preces mese non sunt dignae, 
Sed tu bonus fac benigne, 
Ne perenni cremer igne. 



* There is a very affecting reference in this " sedisti lassus " to the 
expression ''Judex sedebit " in a preceding verse. 



THE DAY OF WRATH. 123 

Oh king of dreadful majesty, 
Who sav'st thy chosen graciously, 
Full fount of pity, save thou me ! 

Remember, oh good Lord, I pray. 

For me thou trod'st earth's dreary way. 

Lest thou destroy me in that day ! 

Oft sitting faint, me thou hast sought. 
My ransom on the cross thou 'st wrought. 
Be so great toil not all for nought ! * 

Thou just avenging Judge ! oh shed 
Thy free remission on my head. 
Before that day of reckoning dread ! 

I groan, as if arraigned I stood. 

Guilt dyes my face with shame's red flood ; 

The prostrate suppliant spare, oh God ! 

Who Mary Magdalen didst free, 

And heard'st the thief upon the tree,! 

Thou too hast given hope to me. 

My prayers all worthless are, I mourn, 
But thou, good Lord, benignly turn. 
Lest in eternal fire I burn ! 

* Or : Me thou didst seek with weary pain, 
For me upon the cross wast slain, 
Let not such labor all be vain, 
t So St. Peter calls the cross in 1 Epist. ii. 24>; " Who his own self bare 
our sins in his own body on the tree."' So also in other places. 



124 DIES IRJE. 

Inter oves locum praesta, 
Et ab hoedis me sequestra, 
Statuens in parte dextra. 

Confutatis maledictis, 
Flammis acribus addictis, 
Voca me cum benedictis. 

Oro supplex et acclinis, 
Cor contritum quasi cinis, 
Gere curam mei finis. * 

Lachrymosa dies ilia, 
Qua resurget ex favilla 

Judicandus homo reus. 
Huic ergo parce, Deus. 

Pie Jesu, Domine, 

Dona eis requiem. Amen. 



* My destiny as well as my death, as in Numbers xxiii. 10 j " Let me 
die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his ! " 



THE DAY OF WRATH. 125 

Among the sheep grant thou my state, 

And from the goats me separate, 

And place at thy right hand to wait ! * 

The cursed in speechless horror all, 
From piercing flames which them appal, 
My name among thy blessed call ! 

I suppliant pray, and lowly bend, 
My contrite heart in ashes rend. 
Oh take thou care of my last end ! 

A day of sighs and tears and cries, 
When from the ashes man shall rise, 

Before the judgment-seat to stand ! 
Spare him, oh God ! oh stay thy hand ! 

Oh Lord Jesus, Saviour blest, 

Grant to them thy endless rest. Amen. 

* Matt. XXV. 31, (fee. 



11* 



126 



THE DEPARTED.* 

" Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth ; yea, aaith the 
Spikit, that they may rest from their labors." — Rev. xiv. 13. 

The sun to his far ocean rest has passed, 
The gleammgs of twilight are fading fast, 
And the stars shine out from the eastern sky, 
And the soft breeze of even is murmuring by, 
And thoughts of hopes of fond affection fled 
Mingle with thoughts of the absent and dead. 

Spirits of the departed ! where are ye ? 
Are ye watching as guardians around me ^ 
Or hymn ye with seraphs your Saviour's love ? 
Have ye your home with the holy above .'' 
Do ye reign with the perfect just on high ? 
Do ye taste of pleasures that cannot die ? 
Are ye free from temptation's many fears } 
Are ye free from sin ? are ye free from tears ^ 



* '^ Ah me '. where roves my fancy ? what kind dreams 
Crowd with sweet violence on my waking mind ! 
Perhaps illusions all ! 

Perhaps they sing 
To some new golden harp the almighty deeds 
The names, the honors, of their Saviour God, 
His cross, his grave, his victory, and his crown : 
Oh could I imitate the exalted notes, 
And mortal ears could bear them ! " 

Watts. 



THE DEPARTED. 127 

Is your portion of bliss without alloy ? 

Is your home in the heavens ? Is God your joy ? 

Oh say, if ye are allowed to declare 

The wonders of grace that circle you there ! 

Ye are silent. 'T is well. Ye should not tell 
Of the glorious mansions where now ye dwell ! 
We are children of earth ; we cannot know 
Of the ^' rivers of God " that round you flow ; 
Our senses are weak ; they cannot ascend 
To the temple of light in which ye bend : 
No ! eye hath not seen, heart cannot conceive 
Of the " crown laid up " for the just who believe ! 

But oh ! in the great and terrible day. 
When the sun and the stars shall pass away, 
When the elements melt with fervent heat. 
And the worlds shall burn as a rolling sheet, 
When the throne is set, and the trumpet's sound 
Shall summon the nations of earth around. 
And the righteous receive their rich reward, 
And joy in the love of their mighty Lord, 
May I enter with you the promised rest. 
The Sabbath of heaven, the home of the blest ! 

Rest ye, beloved ones, in your low, damp bed ! 
Sleep on, in your silence, ye faithful dead ! 



128 



THE LAMB AND THE CROSS. 

"The Lamb is the light thereof." — Rev. xxi. 23. 

" But God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus 
Christ, by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world. — Gal. 
vi. 14. 

"Ye are redeemed with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without 
blemish and without spot." — 1 Pet. i. 19. 

The Lamb the heavenly light ! 

The bleeding Lamb of God ! * 
True light ! t the light of light ! J how bright 

Its flowing, flashing flood ! 

The Lamb the light ! 

All glory in the Cross ! 

The cross of Jesus Christ ! 
The world, and all things else, are dross, 

With this, my great High-priest, 

The glorious Cross ! § 

Renowned the slave's vile cross ! || 

The Lamb a feeble thing ! 
Yet these, the Cross, the Lamb, engross 

My heart and mind, which sing 

The Lamb, the Cross ! 

* " Behold the Lamb of God which taketh away the sin of the 
world." — John i. 29. 

t " That (the word) was the true light, which lighteth every man that 
Cometh into the world." 

t Nicene Creed. § Heb. viii. 

II " As this death was most dolorous and full of acerbity, so was it 



THE LAMB AND THE CROSS. 129 

Oh for an angel's strain, 

The Lamb of God to bless ! 
Ascended King of Kings to reign ! * 

The Lord our righteousness ! | 

The Lamb my strain ! 

Oh for an angel's song, 

The Cross of Christ to praise ! 

Thy mighty rod, thy sceptre strong, 
Ancient of endless days ! J 

The Cross my song ! 

I love the feeble Lamb ! 

The slave's vile cross renowned ! 
The Cross the sceptre of I am ! § 

The Lamb the Lion crowned ! || 

The Cross, the Lamb ! 

In the mid hour of night 

A dream of glory passed. 
And on my wondering spirit's sight 

Unwonted splendor cast. 

In deep midnight. 

also most infamous and full of ignominy. The Romans themselves ac- 
counted it a servile punishment, and inflicted it upon their slaves and 
fugitives. It was a high crime to put that dishonor upon any freeman j 
and the greatest indignity, which the most undeserving Roman could 
possibly suffer in himself, or could be contrived to show their detesta- 
tion to such creatures as were below human nature." — Pearson, on 
the Creed. "Pone crucem servo." — Juv. Sat. vi. 1. 218. 

* Rev. xix. 16. t Jerem. xxiii. 6. X Dan. vii. § John viii. 58. 
Exod. iii. 14. 11 Rev. v. 5. 



130 THE LAMB AND THE CROSS. 

Nature seemed sunk in sleep 

On every ancient hill, 
While solemn silence settled deep ; 

Life's busy hum was still, 

In nature's sleep. 

The stars were shining clear. 
With soft and steady rays, 

Faint types of that celestial year, 
Where beauty ever stays, 

And radiance clear. 

The moon, with mellow beams, 
In the eastern heaven glowed. 

And far around, in silver streams 
Of lustre, mildly flowed 

Its mellow beams. 

Within the place of prayer, 
The place of nightly rest, 

I knelt me down to worship there 
My God and Father blest, 

In holy prayer. 

That lovely light serene 

Within the chamber lay, — 

Till brighter, brighter fell its sheen, 
Beyond the brightest day, 

That light serene ! 

The stars had left the skies. 
Oh glorious was the moon ! 



THE LAMB AND THE CROSS. 131 

Unearthly radiance swelled its size, 
And from its broad disk shone, 

And filled the skies. 

Another mighty sun, 

Vast spread, it seemed to be, 
Though not too light to look upon. 

Yet lighter seemed to me 

Than our bright sun. 

Still, still, dilating more, 

That radiant orb of night 
Still shed upon the world its store 

Of wide-expanding light. 

Dilating more. 

Slowly it turned to blood. 

And paused upon its gyre ; 
And fixed amid the heaven it stood. 

Omen of coming ire. 

All turned to blood. 

Oh, when in future time, 

I see that omen dire. 
Good Lord and Saviour, Judge sublime. 

Save me from endless fire. 

In future time.* 



* " Sed tu bonus fac benigne, 
Ne perenni cremer \gne." 

Dies Tree. 



132 THE LAMB AND THE CROSS. 

Changed then that dismal scene, — 
Fled that dread hue imprest, — 

The orb sent forth its glorious gleen, 
And with new lustre drest 

The beauteous scene ; — 

Then, stretching far on high, 

Another form became, 
And showed, in brilliant majesty, 

A cross of hallowed flame, 

Burning on high. 

Raised on a battle car 

Of ancient shape and mould. 
The Cross, whose brilliance streamed afar, 

Seemed to sure victory rolled. 

On that grand car. 

Thou dwelling in the Height, 

On earth the Nazarene ! 
Now in thy light may we see light ; * 

Be here thy glory seen. 

From out the Height 1 

The light which issued thence, 
How calm and sweet and fair ! 

I gazed, with ravished, awful sense. 
And breathed that light, as air. 

Which issued thence. 

* Psalm xxxvi. 9. 



THE LAMB AND THE CROSS. 133 

I knew no fear, but awe, — 

Such as the prophet felt. 
When in the isle his Lord he saw,* 

And in his presence knelt. 

With holy awe. 

That heaven-entranced seer 

In Patmos met his Lord : — 
Though perfect love cast out all fear, | 

Yet worshipped and adored 

The reverent seer. 

Angels in light and bliss, 

Who harp God's praise above, 
Feel sacred rapture such as this. 

Awful yet fearless love. 

The angels' bliss. 

There is no fear in love. 

Yet love is rapturous awe, 
God, Infinite Love, our hearts approve, 

While Love is Infinite Law, 

With awful love. 

That chariot of the Lamb ! 

It has no barbed steeds ! 
Rushing in strength to save or damn, 

Its course Jehovah speeds. 

The Almighty Lamb ! 

* Rev. i. 13-17. 

t 1 John iv. 18. " There is no fear in love ; but perfect love casteth 
out fear ; because fear hath torment." 
12 



134 THE LAMB AND THE CROSS. 

Oh King, so wonderous meek, 

Now throned o'er heaven's vast nave ! 

Thou cam'st to earth the lost to seek,* 
The trusting suppliant save,! 

Thou King so meek ! 

Gird on thy shining sword. 
Oh conquering Son decreed, J 

God's spirit-piercing, powerful word : § 
Through all the nations speed. 

With thy sharp sword ! 

Oh Thou most mighty God ! 

Ride on to triumph now ; IF 
Let nations purchased with thy blood, 

To thee. Lord Jesus, bow. 

Almighty God.** 



* Luke xix. 10. 

\ " Supplicanti parce, Deus." — Dies Ires. 

t Psalm ii. 7-12. § Eph. vi. 17. Heb. iv. 12. 

II Rev. xix. 15 ; l 16. H Psalm xlv. 3, 4. 

** Isaiah ix. 6. 



135 



SONNET. 



"Clouds and darkness aro round about him ; righteousness and judgment are 
the habitation of his throno." — Psalm xcvii. 2. 



There is a mourner, whose young pulses beat 

Wildly and fitfully with lonely grief ; 

Within whose riven heart, without relief, 
Still preys her parting-woe's first burning heat. 
I honor that true friend, — that faithful wife, — 

And deeply pity her ; for well I know 

Her voiceless, dreary, dark, and blighting woe, — 
Faithful in death to him she loved in life. 
Ah ! why should one so true be doomed to mourn. 
From hour to hour, to life's extremest bourn .'* 
Thou God of grace ! thy ways are not as ours, 
Thou smil'st in mercy when thy judgment lowers ! 
Forgive the doubt, oh righteous Lord ! Sin rends 
The heart; — thou lov'st ! Thy heaven will make 
amends ! 



136 



CHRISTIAN RESIGNATION. 

" I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day." 

St. John xi. 24. 

"Not my will, but thine be done." — St. Luke, xxii. 42. 

'T WAS early spring : — the flowers had just begun 
To spread their beauties to the genial sun ; 
And smiling verdure decked the swelling plains, 
Which late were bound in winter's icy chains ; 
And where the careless sleigh last slid along, 
There flowed a current, rapid, deep, and strong ; 
And birds were pouring forth their carols loud 
In woods, which lately to the tempest bowed. 

The winds breathed not ; — the noon-day sun rode 
high; 
No cloud was seen to spot the azure sky. 
A funeral train moved on in solemn show, 
A small and sad procession, silent, slow : — 
One only mourned, and her groans, shuddering, low, 
Told the intenseness of a mother's woe ; 
One only wept, and her swoln, tearful eye 
Expressed a mother's dreary agony ; 
They followed to his grave the only son 
Of this now lonely, childless, widowed one. 

Her trust was in her God : — she knew that He, 
Who by his word had smoothed the stormy sea, 
Can give sweet comfort in the dark distress, 
When sorrows crowd around and trials press. 



CHRISTIAN RESIGNATION. 137 

The scene was changed ; — and fields of yellow corn 
Waved o'er the golden landscape: — spring had gone. 
'T was summer twilight, that still, holy hour, 
When calm hushed nature speaks the ruling Power ; 
And fragrant, grateful breezes sighed among 
The trees, where late the feathered songsters sung. 

I stood beside the sick, the dying bed 
Of that poor widow, on whose fenceless head 
Afflictions thick had fallen ; but her trust 
Was in her Saviour, merciful and just. 
The stroke was heavy, — but her God was Love ; 
The body failed, — the strong mind looked above : 
And, as her frame grew weak in death, her soul 
Rejoiced, for it saw heaven its resting-goal. 
She prayed in fervent faith ; her eyes grew bright. 
Then fixed ; — the immortal spirit took its flight : — 
The mother's spirit, freed from earth, had flown 
To meet her child before the Father's throne. 

What gave that poor bereaved woman power 
To bear her sorrows in the gloomy hour ? 
What turned to holy praise her dying breath, 
And robbed of terror the grim tyrant. Death ? 
What caused her chastened spirit pure to rise 
To scenes of joy eternal in the skies ^ 
'T was Christian Resignation. 



12# 



138 



THE UNKNOWN SUFFERINGS OF CHRIST. 

Suggested by the following passage from the Life of 
THE Rev. Rowland Hill, by the Rev. Edwin Sidney. 

*< One day a remark was made on the admirable petition (in the Liturgy of 
the Greek Church), ^ By all thy sufferings known and unknown, Good Lord, de- 
liver us.'' 'Ay,' said Mr. Hill, ' I consider that prayer to be one of the most 
touchin" ever uttered. The unknown sufferings of Christ ! All his described 
sufferings were slight, in comparison with what infinite holiness must have felt 
in the midst of sinners ; the light, the glory of heaven, in the darkness and 
impurity of the world, yet spotless and without sin ! Oh, my Saviour, no 
tongue can describe, no angel can fathom, the abyss of thy suffering for me a 
sinner ! As I cannot reach the infinite height of thy love and thy glory in 
heaven, so 1 cannot descend into the depth of thy sorrows when here on earth ! 
I can only wonder and adore ! ' " 

By thy sufferings known on earth, 
By thy pure, mysterious birth, 

Good Lord, Jesus ! 
By the sacramental seal, 
When, a babe, thou first didst feel 
The cutting edge of steel, 

Deliver us ! 

By all righteousness fulfilled. 
Thou in Jordan's waters chilled. 

Blessed Jesus ! 
By thy hallowed fasting-time. 
And, when Satan urged to crime, 
Thy victory sublime. 

Deliver us ! 



THE UNKNOWN SUFFERINGS OF CHRIST. 139 

Wanderer round Samaria's land, 
Watcher by Tiberias' strand, 

Blessed Jesus ! 
By the desert's gloomy shade, 
By the mount with light arrayed, 
Thy glory then displayed, 

Deliver us ! 

By thy sorrowing friendship's sighs. 
By thy human sympathies. 

Blessed Jesus ! 
By thy heart's each secret pang. 
By the burning tears which stang, 
While loud Hosannas rang,* 

Deliver us ! 

By thy dreary loneliness, 
Homeless, houseless, comfortless. 

Blessed Jesus ! 
By the Shepherd's anxious care, t 
By the malice Thou didst dare, 
Thy patient love and prayer. 

Deliver us ! 

Thou in agony didst plead. 

Drops, like sweat, thy heart did bleed, 

Blessed Jesus ! 
By that garden-woe's abyss. 
By the wretched Judas' kiss. 
The armed men's scornful hiss. 

Deliver us ! 



* St. Luke xix. 41. Comp. Matt. xxi. 9. + St. John x. 7-16. 



140 THE UNKNOWN SUFFERINGS OF CHRIST. 

By thine anguish, left of all,* 
By the cruel judgment-hall, 

Blessed Jesus ! 
By frail Peter's coward vow, 
By the hireling's brutal blow, 
The soldier's mocking show. 

Deliver us ! 

By the burden thou didst share, 
Which Cyrenian Simon bare. 

Blessed Jesus ! 
By thy fainting steps to die, 
Zion's daughters wailing nigh. 
And fearful Calvary, 

Deliver us ! 

By thy cross, — the nail, — the thong, 
By the tauntings of the throng. 

Blessed Jesus ! 
By the brutal robber's jeers. 
Thy disciples' silent tears. 
Thy mother's mourning years. 

Deliver us ! 

By thy dreadful, deadly thirst. 
When thy cry, " Forsaken ! " burst, 

Blessed Jesus ! 
By thy struggling throes for breath. 
By the sharp spear's bloody sheath. 
Thy shuddering gasp of death. 

Deliver us ! 

* Matt. xxvi. 56. " Then all the disciples forsook him and fled." 



THE UNKNOWN SUFFERINGS OF CHRIST. 141 

By thy sufferings all unknown^ 
Felt by none but Thee alone, * 

Good Lord, Jesus ! 
By thy coming Incarnate, 
By thy Life in human state. 
Thy final Passion great, 

Deliver us ! 

Thy described sufferings vast, 
Yet by these how far surpassed ! 

Blessed Jesus ! 
Finite hearts can never know 
All thy sufferings below. 
Heaven's love in deepest woe ! 

Deliver us ! 

Thou, the Holy One and pure, 
Didst, as man, our shame endure, 

Blessed Jesus ! 
Light and glory from on high. 
Spotless, sinless. Thou didst try 
The world's impurity ! 

Deliver us ! 



* la the sufferings unknown by any except " God manifest in the 

flesh, " " the Word, who was God, made flesh, and dwelling among us/' is 

the peculiarity of that reconciliation which He effected, who " for our 

sakes became poor, that we through his poverty might be made rich." 

These are his Incarnation and his Life, in which are comprehended his 

Passion. 

By thy wondrous Incarnation, 

By thy Life in human station, 

Thy Passion, our salvation, 

Good Lord, deliver us ! 



142 THE UNKNOWN SUFFERINGS OF CHRIST. 

To the Father, once again, 
Now exalted, who wast slain, 

Blessed Jesus ! 
By thy sufferings all unknown. 
Who for sinners didst atone, 
Behold us from thy throne, 

Deliver us ! 

These no tongue can ever teach. 
Angel flight can never reach, 

Blessed Jesus ! 
Though to Thee no thought can soar. 
Still, oh Saviour, evermore, 
We wonder and adore ! 

Deliver us ! 



A PRAYER TO CHRIST. 

Oh Saviour ! Thou, as man, hast felt 

The strong temptation ; and hast knelt, 

Like us, for strength to bear thee up ; 

And, in its bitterness, the cup 

Of anguish to its dregs didst drain ; 

Now, King of Glory ! kindly deign 

To wash us white from sin's dark stain ! 



143 



SONNET. 

Lord ! Thou art God, and I a weak 
And erring child of earth ; r— the free 
And holy hope of peace with Thee, 
Thy full forgiveness, I bespeak : 

How soothing now, — when none is near, 
To turn my worship's gathering tide 
Through earth's vile channels far aside. 

Or mock the penitential tear, — 
To lay thus low my burning cheek 
Upon the sacred page, and seek 
Thy love, the " lowly and the meek" ! 
Though I am worthless. Thou didst bear 
My sin ; and, trusting to thy care. 
In faith I pray ; — Lord, hear my prayer ! 



144 



THE WORSHIP OF HEAVEN. 
Lines suggested by the following passage relating to 

THE last moments OF RiCHARD HooKER, IN THE LlFE OF 
THAT EXTRAORDINARY MAN, BY IZAAK WaLTON. 

" After some time he (Doctor Saravia) left him at night, with a promise to 
return early the day following, which he did, and then found him better in ap- 
pearance, deep in contemplation, and not inclinable to discourse, which gave the 
Doctor occasion to inquire his present thoughts ; to which he replied, — Tliat he 
icas meditating the number and nature of angels, and their blessed obedience and 
order, without lohich peace could not be in heaven; and oh! that it might be so on 
earth." 

" Praise ye him, all his angels; 

Praise ye him, all his hosts." 

Psalm cxlviii. 2. 

Before the great white throne, 
Where unveiled splendor shines, above mid heaven 
displayed, 
Jehovah's angel armies stand ; 
Silent and still they stay, rank upon rank surveyed, 

The glorious, boundless brother-band. 
With robes of dazzling white their countless lines 
arrayed ; 
Each eye upraised and clasped each hand, 
They seem in adoration's awful rapture lost. 

One changeless law alone. 

Of universal order, sways the herald-host, — 

Jehovah's honor, his command ; 

With meek humility, they wait the word. 

Obedient to fulfil, of heaven's high Lord. 

Oh wonderous gift of grace ! 

Lovely humility ! 
Reflected from the face 

Of the one Good on high ! 



THE WORSHIP OF HEAVEN. 145 

Sweet attribute of heaven 
To saints sublimest given ! 

The holy harmony 
Of ravished harps above ! 
Deep source of perfect love, 

Springing beyond the sky ! 
Full fount of solemn joy, 
Where endless, blest employ 

Angelic spirits ply ! 
Effulgent star of hope, whence beauty beams ! 
Bright sun of righteousness, whence glory streams ! 

Eternal, sacred law ! 

Mighty humility ! 
Whose constant forces draw 

From spheres their melody ! 
Great, mysterious will, 
Whose acts creation fill ! 

The unsolved unity 
Of fire-wreathed worlds that roll ! 
The universal soul 

Of boundless ecstasy ! 
The immortal chain that binds 
All loftiest, purest minds 

To God eternally ! 
First principle of rule in every place, 
Maintaining blissful empire throughout space ! 

Pure mind of Christ the slain ! 

Highest humility ! 
From mortal pride and pain 
13 



146 THE WORSHIP OF HEAVEN. 

To thy support we flee ! 
Once manifest below, 
Supreme ascended now, 

Our anxious sorrows see ! 
Beatitude of saints, 
When guilty nature faints. 

We burdened come to thee ! 
Our languid spirits pine, 
To know thy power divine, 
Strength of the truly free ! 
Highest humility ! from finite thought so far ! 
Life of all holy hearts ! how rich thine honors are ! 

Around the throne of God 
The gathered myriads wait, through countless circles 
spread, 
In reverential posture bent. 
And quaff" the fearful joy, the exultation dread, 
From Godhead's glorious presence sent. 
No sound is in the solemn orbs, but silence dead. 

Throughout their measureless extent ; 
No motion stirs along the starry pavement fair. 

Where swift-winged feet just trod ; 
Deep is the spirit-worship, full the joy, they share. 
All sense in burning homage blent. 
Till Gabriel's hand sweeps once his golden lyre, 
And wakes to intensest praise the entranced choir. 

Angels and cherubim, 
With soft, slow symphonies, their many lyres unbound, 

Chant low, responsive, lingering lays ; 
Mild music measured murmurs, mingles, melts, around; 



THE WORSHIP OF HEAVEN. 147 

The liquid prelude still they raise, 
Their silvery tones, now sweet, now wildly swelling, 
sound ; 
Each string its tribute trembling pays. 
The spreading zones far off have caught the sacred 
strain ; 
Archangels, seraphim. 
And all their host, the ecstatic numbers strike again, — 
God's transport-hymn of choral praise ; 
And heaven's vast vaults reecho loud and long. 
Of Moses and the Lamb, heaven's holiest song. 

The chorus-shout has past ; 
That hymn's triumphant grandeur discords may not 
mar. 
And now, with hushed and holy fear. 
They list Jehovah's word, — those multitudes afar. 

The charge goes forth to all : they hear. 
They fly, — some to each splendent sun, or smaller 
star ; 
Some to the systems bright, which rear 
Their walls of massive brilliance on creation's verge, 

Pursue their journey fast ; 
To every varied clime their vivid track they urge. 
In every distant globe or near ; 
They speed, with gleaming wing, their rapid flight. 
Their rapid flight, — a flash of sudden light.* 

Some to salvation's heirs 
Are ministering spirits, sent to watch their path, 



Ezekiel i. 14. 



148 THE WORSHIP OF HEAVEN. 

And guide them to the Saviour's rest ; 
Some flames of fire are made, his ministers to scath, 

Where rebel worlds are guiltiest ; 
Some rushing winds are sped, his messengers of wrath; 

All haste the Living Father's hest. 
They need no glowing crown, no lustrous ring nor 
gem; 
Each angel-forehead wears 
The mark of God, his angels' noblest diadem, 
Each holy, each supremely blest. 
By one great law the radiant spirits move, 
The law which rules in heaven, the law of love. 

Would it were thus on earth ! 
That blessed order and obedience held each heart. 

Like theirs, to our Jehovah nigh ! 
That men, with all above, might bear concordant part, 

With those blest angel-hosts might vie ! 
Then human sin would die, remorse no longer smart, 

And human sorrows cease to sigh. 
Soon would the desert smile, with shining garments 
clad. 
Plenty spring up from dearth. 
Beauty from ashes rise, and crystal streams make 
glad 
The city of our God Most High, 
Earth long so desolate, so long forlorn. 
Now to fair hope and peace celestial born. 

Thy kingdom come, oh God ! 
Thy will be done on earth, as angels keep thy law ! 



THE WORSHIP OF HEAVEN. 149 

Oh grant the grace thy people crave ; 
Roll on the dazzling day thy visioned prophets saw ! 

Oh come, thy suffering people save ! 
Thou mighty Lord of lords, gird on thy sword of war ; 

Assert the right thy Father gave ! 
Great King of Saints, all power in earth and heaven 
is thine ! 
Rule with thine iron rod ; 
Make bare thy holy arm, in majesty Divine ; 

Thy blood-stained banner conquering wave ; 
Down to their lake of fire grim Death and Hell be 

driven ; 
Set up thy throne, oh God, till Earth be one with 
Heaven ! 



150 



SONNET. 



Welcome ! welcome ! once again, ye lowly Buds of Spring ! 

Though ye do not ope so full, nor spread your leaves so gay^ 

As when summer's ripening breezes fresh around you play, 
Still I dearly love you for the moral which ye bring ! 
Bursting ice-cold fetters, which to earthly beauty cling. 

Starting from the winter to the sun's first warming ray, 

When returning birds once more chant loud their joyous lay,' 
Thus ye tell, that spirits rise where glorious angels sing ! 
All along the growing vines new blossoms ye will string. 

Lovelier, richer tribute in the coming season pay ; 

Brightening and expanding ever through the lengthening day,' 
Thoughts of heaven upon the air with perfume sweet ye fling ! 

Hallowing Wisdom's lessons may these humble leaflets say, 
Like your fragrant whispers heard, ye lowly Buds of Spring ! 



THE END. 



^HJB- l7 



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